


Déjà Vu

by mishka_mooshka



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Complete, Drama, Eventual Sex, Flashbacks, Humor, Love, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Ouch, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited, Rochu, Romance, Violence, Yaoi, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 15:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5253824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishka_mooshka/pseuds/mishka_mooshka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a tragic car crash takes away his memories, Yao Wang decides to move to Los Angeles to start a new life. One night—in the most unlikely of places—he meets the mysterious and unpredictable Ivan Braginski, whom he eventually falls in love with. But Ivan has a secret. And when it is discovered, Yao will have to wake up to a reality that might just destroy everything he ever believed in. RoChu AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will have alternating points of views, as well as chapters devoted to Ivan's flashbacks. 
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> -Mariska

Walking down a new street shouldn't be consequential, right?

Wrong.

Yao took in his unfamiliar surroundings, all too aware that he was attracting numerous glances from many different directions. Of course he anticipated as much. What business would a tiny Asian man like him have in the most notorious area in the city, after all? An area famous for its ceaseless violent fights, daily gang activities, constant drug-dealing, and yes, the occasional murder.

But it was the quickest way home. And he already missed the first fifteen minutes of his drama. So screw the fact that it was past midnight. Just ignore the stares of the people (who looked about three times his size). Keep walking. Don't make eye contact.

"It is dangerous to be wandering alone this late, little girl." Said a husky voice behind him.

 _Little girl_?!

Forgetting where he was and what type of person he might be talking to, Yao wheeled around, indignant, and glared ferociously at the owner of the voice. "I'm a guy!"

The man was huge. In every sense of the word. About one-and-a-half heads taller, he towered over Yao. He was wearing a fitted black business suit that flattered his sturdy physique. His hair was silvery and pale, fine and wispy, and had an almost translucent quality to it.

But it was his eyes that struck Yao as most fascinating. They were a hypnotizing shade of deep lilac—orbs that made him feel as though he was being scrutinized down to every thought.

And he was, even Yao couldn't deny, _one hell_ of a good-looking dude.

The man raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Yao's blatant display of annoyance and apparent lack of fear.

Yao, on the other hand, was just about ready to wet himself. Only, he was relatively skilled when it came to hiding how he felt. So to the man, he probably appeared indifferent.

The man smiled, his features contorting into a slightly seductive expression (was it on purpose?) and Yao felt a chill run down his spine.

"You are very brave," the man said, in a thick accent that could only be Russian.

Wordlessly, Yao turned back and started walking away. But for every three strides he made, the man only needed one. So despite Yao's decent head start, he had already caught up in about five steps.

"It is rude to walk away without responding, little one," he teased.

Yao's face twitched, the nervousness dissipating slightly, and he felt as though an irksome fly had instead decided to buzz around beside him. "Don't call me that," he snapped.

The man laughed. "But it is true, da? You are very little," Then catching the expression on Yao's face, he added, "Then tell me your name, so I do not call you this anymore."

"You yourself said it was dangerous to walk around here. Now you expect me to give you my name?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yes, of course. Very silly of me," he chuckled. "Then may I invite you to accompany me somewhere else?"

Yao rolled his eyes and started to walk away again.

"My name is Ivan Braginski!" the man yelled after him. "I will call you tomorrow, da? Goodbye, Yao Wang!"

Yao stopped dead. He swiveled around, eyes wide, but the man was already gone.

"H-how did he—?" he stammered.

His heart was thrashing now, and he was about to place a hand over where it was pounding, when he felt something already there.

Almost at once, the fear subsided and was replaced with an intense desire to kick himself.

In his haste to get home from work, Yao forgot to take his I.D off.

...

"He hasn't actually called you, right?" Alfred asked, settling himself beside Arthur on Yao's couch.

"No," he replied.

"But monsieur, it would be straight out of a fairytale if 'e did!" Francis exclaimed excitedly.

"Get your head on straight," Arthur barked. "Fairytale? You should be thinking more along the lines of 'this guy is a lunatic' if he does manage to find your number out."

Arthur was right. The guy had to be bluffing last night. And yet…Yao found himself subconsciously anticipating the call from this Ivan…Ivan…Bragonky, was it? He couldn't even remember the freaking surname. It was stupid. For all he knew, the dude could be a psychopathic stalker. Or a goddamn ax-murderer.

But his mind kept fluttering back to those amethyst eyes, the slightly seductive smile, and the undeniably chill-inducing, sexy-as-all-hell husky voice, and he thought, "Maybe he's not all that bad…"

"Arthur, 'e 'as not been on a proper date in ages!" Francis argued. "You know...ever since ze accident..."

Which was also true. He got into a bad car crash a couple of years ago. There were no major permanent injuries—which was miraculous according to the doctor—except for the fact that he couldn't remember anything that happened before the incident. He woke up at the hospital, covered in bandages, literally having no idea whatsoever of where he was, or who he was.

Sometimes, memories would come trickling back, but only in vague, indiscernible images that hardly ever made any sense.

It was too difficult to keep living in a place where people kept waiting, trying to coerce his old-self to come back again. They failed to realize that this "old-self" of his was probably gone for good. So he decided to start anew by moving out of China and running a restaurant with his little sister in Los Angeles instead.

His life went pretty well after that. He met Alfred, Arthur, and Francis, who eventually found out about the accident but were tactful enough never to bug him about it.

Then about a year ago, he established that dating women just didn't feel natural to him. His romantic life, however, could not have differed more from his success in finding friends and keeping business booming. While life in general flourished, ever since he came out, his love life became a reclusive, anticlimactic bastard.

Alfred scratched his chin. "Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean he should go out with this guy just because it's a good opportunity. I mean, we could be sending Yao off to…anyone, you know?"

Francis looked defeated. "Zat's true also…but zen again, it is coming from someone who is in a perfectly 'ealthy and successful relationship."

Arthur scoffed then laughed. "I would hardly call it healthy,"

Alfred put his arm around Arthur and pinched his cheek playfully. "Aww, c'mon Artie! You know you love me!"

Arthur tried to shove him away. "Geroff me!"

Francis turned to Yao and raised an eyebrow as if to say "see what I mean?"

Yao nodded then laughed.

Arthur and Alfred stopped then looked up.

"What are you laughing at?" Arthur asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," Yao said dismissively.

"You two are nauseating," Francis added jokingly.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well, anyway, back to—WILL YOU QUIT TICKLING ME?!" he snapped at Alfred—who ceased immediately. He sighed. "Okay, Yao, what was he like? I mean, did he seem…I dunno…odd in any way?"

"He looked different from all the other people there, if that's what you mean. Judging from the accent, I think he's Russian." Yao stated.

Francis' eyes twinkled. "Mon dieu! A Russian? Was 'e good-looking?"

Yao didn't mean to give himself away so easily, but an unintentional smile betrayed him.

"Stop encouraging it, you idiot!" Arthur scolded, chucking a pillow that hit Francis smack in the face. "Who cares if he's good-looking? We still haven't figured out who the guy is,"

Vibrations suddenly began issuing from the back pocket of Yao's jeans, making him jump violently. He really should stop putting his phone there…

"Who is it?" Francis asked, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Everyone looked at Yao expectantly.

He looked at the screen: it was an unknown number.

"Well?" Alfred queried.

Yao shrugged. "There's no name,"

"Answer it!" they all shouted simultaneously.

Yao told them off. "God, okay! Calm down!" Though he himself was positively quaking, with fear or excitement, he couldn't discern.

Pressing the answer button tentatively, he took a shaky breath. "Hello?"

"Hello, little Yao!" greeted a familiar voice.

Yao's heart skipped multiple beats. "I said don't call me that!"

The guys threw Yao questioning looks. He nodded to confirm their suspicions. Everyone was silent.

"Put it on speaker," Francis mouthed.

He immediately shook his head. Ivan might say something that they could use against him for the remainder of his life. For example, if they were to hear the stupid nickname Ivan kept calling him, they would never let him live it down. No way in hell.

"You told me not to call you 'little one'. So I called you 'little Yao' instead." Ivan stated matter-of-factly.

"Speaking of calling, how the hell did you find my number?" Yao demanded.

"I have many sources, silly Yao. But I only use them when I really want something," he replied cheerfully.

Does that mean he—no. No. Stop it, Yao. Absolutely not.

"That's…ah, yes, downright scary." he said bluntly.

Ivan chuckled. "There is no need to worry. I did nothing illegal." he reassured. "And as for last night, I do not usually go to that place. I simply happened to be passing by, like you." He explained.

"Yeah, nice try."

"If you would like for me to prove it, then come see me. I am in front of your apartment."

Yao dropped his phone and damn nearly killed himself tripping over a chair leg in his haste to check out the window.

And to Yao's complete and utter bewilderment, there he was. Blonde and lilac-eyed. Dressed in a white suit. Standing in front of a freaking limousine. Upon seeing Yao peeking out, Ivan put on a bright smile and waved enthusiastically.

The other guys scrambled after him and looked over his shoulder, behind the shadow of the curtains, where Ivan probably couldn't see them.

Alfred whistled. "Holy shit, dude."

Francis patted Yao on the back. "I knew you 'ad it in you."

"Hey," Arthur reasoned. "You're not seriously going out—"

Yao, suddenly seized by the urge to do something crazy and unexpected—even though he knew that he would probably end up regretting it—stood up and cut Arthur off. "I'll be back."

Then he picked up his phone and headed outside.


	2. Chapter 2

Ivan strolled nonchalantly down the so-called "dangerous" street, completely indifferent to the many menacing looks being casted his way.

His car had broken down, and his phone told him that the shortest way to the nearest service station was through this place. It was relatively close by, so he decided to walk there.

But this was supposed to be the worst area in Los Angeles? Americans really had it good, didn't they…The Moscow counterpart of this area was much worse. So much worse, in fact, that it made this place seem like a playground. He should know. He used to be part of it.

His attention suddenly shifted to a lone figure across the street. Ivan stopped dead in his tracks. Gaze transfixed, he carefully watched the small figure's quick pace.

Was it an apparition? A hallucination? No, it couldn't have been. There were other people looking at the figure. There would be no mistaking who it was…but…if it really was him…of all the places...

Ivan was snapped out of his daze as he walked straight into a parked car. He had absentmindedly tried to approach the figure.

Ignoring the violent death threats being spat at him by the man who Ivan figured was the car's owner, he swerved around and caught up to the figure. Only a few paces behind, Ivan decided to test his own sanity by saying something; an experiment to see if it would respond—if it was real and not just a figment of his imagination.

"It is dangerous to be wandering alone here this late, little girl."

And in an instant he knew it was not an illusion.

The figure swiveled around, utilizing the snarky attitude and the fierce glare that were so familiar to Ivan. "I'm a guy!"

How long had it been?

How long had it been since he was face-to-face with those amber, almost golden eyes of his? How long had it been since he had last heard that ferocious tone of voice used against him? How long since he had held those soft hands and felt those luscious lips?

Too long. It had been much too long since he last had Yao in his arms. And Ivan desired nothing more at the moment than to wrap those same strong arms once more around the small man's slender body.

But something was wrong. Yao didn't seem surprised to see him…No, not even the slightest flicker of acknowledgement passed through his features.

Ivan raised an eyebrow, seeing if a little time to study his features would help Yao remember, but still, there was nothing. No hint of recognition whatsoever.

Was Yao deliberately acting as though he didn't know Ivan? He had a justified reason of course, but the Yao that Ivan knew would have leaned more towards the I-will-simply-pretend-you-never-existed mindset.

And if a long-lost someone you used to know so well suddenly turned up like a corpse come back to life, wouldn't you—even just accidentally—betray any sign of familiarity?

Either Yao was an extremely convincing actor, or he really forgot.

Ivan decided to experiment further, by smiling the slightly seductive smile that used to always get Yao weak-kneed. "You are very brave," he said.

A brief look of worry passed through Yao's face. Then he stared for a few seconds at Ivan, eyebrows furrowed, before he turned and walked away.

No. He wasn't pretending. Yao stared at Ivan like he sprouted an extra nose. He seemed more worried about the fact that he was conversing with someone who seemed to live in that area, rather than someone with whom he spent countless nights.

Then Ivan remembered. The accident. Could it have taken away Yao's memories?

If it did…if Yao really forgot about the past…

This was it. The wish he thought would never be granted. The one he had never wanted more in his life. Ivan could start over. Pretend everything never happened. Yes, this was his second chance.

…

Ivan laughed. He never thought there would be a day when his old skills would come in handy again.

But it was relatively easy, finding out Yao's phone number and address. Ivan thought that even an amateur would most likely be able to do it.

Yao needed to be more careful. He was evidently an avid social media user. He frequented the same sites on the same devices in almost the exact same places each time. This made Ivan's search considerably easier.

Now all he needed to do was go to Yao's apartment and coerce him into coming out. Very easy. Knowing Yao, he wouldn't be able to stand leaving someone outside, waiting for him. He was too polite for his own good.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hello!" Ivan said cheerfully as Yao approached him.

Yao stopped walking, maintaining a fair distance between himself and Ivan. "How did you find my address?" he demanded. "And my number, while we're on the subject."

Ivan paused for a while, looking at Yao intently. "Your I.D." he replied, sounding as though it should have been apparent.

"My number and my address weren't on that thing!" he replied suspiciously.

"But the name of the restaurant where you work was on it,"

"So?" asked Yao, getting more and more confused. Ivan was making it seem like the fact that he knew where Yao worked explained everything…the only way his excuse would make sense was if—

"I went there." Ivan answered, as if he read Yao's mind. "One of your coworkers told me it was your day-off. She gave me your phone number and your address. She was very nice." He smiled pleasantly.

Yao massaged his temples exasperatedly, hazarding a probable guess as to who this coworker was. "The one who told you all of this, does she, by any chance, have long hair and a really high-pitched voice?"

Ivan nodded.

He made a mental note to use the cleaver next time he sees Mei…But at least that settled the question of whether Ivan was a psycho stalker or not. Knowing Mei, she probably would have given him the information whether or not he asked for it. Maybe she actually did Yao a favor…

"Hold on," Ivan said, suddenly serious. "Was she your girlfriend?"

"No! Oh god, no!" Yao sputtered. "She's my _sister_!"

"Oh," he sighed, sounding endearingly relieved. "Will you come with me, then?" Ivan added hopefully, gesturing to the gleaming white limo behind him.

"Wait…" Yao muttered, realizing something. "You said last night that you would call me. There's no way you could've known Mei would tell you all those things then!"

"No, but I was determined to find you using any means possible. I was simply very lucky to have asked her first. It shortened my search considerably."

At that moment, a couple hundred butterflies suddenly decided to colonize Yao's stomach. "A-also, I'm not going anywhere with you. I came downstairs because the neighbors would talk if you just stand there like an idiot—"

"Even when I could have been anyone?" Ivan interrupted, a tiny hint of amusement detectable in his tone. "You came outside not knowing how I found you…did little Yao, perhaps, want to see me as well?"

Busted. Yao could feel the heat creeping up his cheeks. "Sh-shut up! Of course I didn't!" He wanted to strangle himself when he heard his own voice shaking stupidly.

Ivan frowned slightly. "It is alright if you do not come with me. But I will take it as a rejection. Do svidanya," he turned away.

"A reject—wait! What is this? Are you asking me out on a _date_?"

Ivan faced him again, both eyebrows raised. "I thought that was obvious. Your cluelessness is very cute, little Yao." He chuckled. "I would not have gone through such lengths if I did not wish to spend more time with you."

Yao hoped to god almighty his cheeks weren't as red as they felt.

"B-but," Yao stammered. "How could you already be interested in someone you hardly know?"

"Do you often pass by that area, little Yao?" Ivan asked.

"No! I just needed a shortcut last night," Yao replied defensively.

Ivan smiled. "As did I,"

"Your point being?"

"That is the answer to your question."

"How does that answer—?" Yao started.

But rather than reply, Ivan suddenly approached him, took his hand, and placed a gentle kiss on it, effectively shutting him up.

"I believe in fate." He whispered, intensity burning in his hypnotic eyes.

Yao seemed to have lost the ability to move. Or breathe, for that matter. That feeling in his stomach that he got whenever he rode roller coasters—the one he hated so much yet couldn't get enough of—had seized and dominated his entire body.

"Come with me, little Yao." Ivan pleaded.

"No," Yao said firmly.

"Is that so?" he replied, looking genuinely disappointed and hurt. "Alright, then…"

Just as Ivan walked away, Yao rolled his eyes, laughed, and called after him. "The first thing you should know about me is that I have a rotten sense of humor."

Ivan turned back around, looking at him questioningly.

"Come back tomorrow. I'm busy today." Yao said.

His face splitting into a wide grin, Ivan's eyes shone brightly. "And you will come with me, da?"

"Maybe," Yao replied. Then, giving in to temptation, he gave Ivan a genuine smile. "Yes."


	4. Chapter 4

As he stood there, Ivan almost feared that Yao wouldn't come outside. He called, but the last thing Ivan heard on the other end of the line was a loud bang after he announced that he was outside Yao's apartment.

Yao also peeked out the window very briefly, a moment in which Ivan tried to convey his harmlessness and sincerity using an enthusiastic, childish wave. But still…no luck.

Just as his hopes were beginning to plummet, Ivan saw the front door open, and giddy with relief, watched as Yao slowly made his way toward him.

"Hello!" Ivan greeted cheerfully.

Yao kept himself at a fair distance, maintaining a wide gap between them—a gap that Ivan would do anything in his power to bridge again. If things were how they used to be—how they were _supposed_ to be—Yao would not have stopped until he reached Ivan's arms.

"How did you find my address? And my number, while we're on the subject." Yao asked crossly, his eyes gleaming fierce as ever.

_...Oh, shit..._

Ivan was so preoccupied with the thought of seeing Yao again, he completely forgot to come up with a story to justify his actions. But it was absolutely essential that he do it fast now. Because even Ivan knew that admitting how he actually did it would, almost certainly, send Yao the wrong message. It would send anyone the wrong message. It wasn't normal to go blabbering on about one's cyber-tracking abilities, for goodness sake.

Ivan racked his brains, searching for an idea, discarding excuses that were feeble and ones that were too suspicious. The first time Yao questioned him about the same thing, what did he say?

Oh, that's right. He lied about going to Yao's workplace. This time though, Ivan really _did_ know where the place was. Because of the identification badge that Yao was wearing the previous night. "Your I.D."

"My number and my address weren't on that thing!"

"But the name of the restaurant where you work was on it," Ivan replied automatically. It had been years since he was last pressured to come up with a lie this quickly. Apparently, old habits never die.

Yao raised an eyebrow skeptically. "So?"

"I went there." Ivan explained. "One of your coworkers told me it was your day-off, and she gave me your phone number _and_ your address. She was very nice."

He really did go to the restaurant, but took an immediate U-turn when he saw who else worked there…The single flaw in this excuse was Yao's sister, the only other person who knew…and she was perfectly aware of who Ivan was.

But the time-crunch was too much. And knowing Yao's susceptibility to resorting to suspicion, hesitating for even a second longer than an acceptable pause would wave a red-flag. It was the best he could come up with. Ivan just hoped fervently that Yao would forget to question his sister about it.

On the bright side, he seemed to have been convinced. Ivan hated having to lie, but if he reveals himself…if Yao remembers…he would never forgive Ivan.

So Ivan stuck to the ruse, even improvising a little by pretending to be jealous of Yao's sister. This seemed to have the desired effect. He became flustered, and eventually, sidetracked, allowing Ivan to sneak something he sincerely wanted into the conversation.

"Will you come with me, then?" Ivan asked hopefully.

"Wait…you said _last night_ that you would call me. There's no way you could've known Mei would tell you all those things then!"

_Damn it, Yao…_

It took a while, but with a few well-chosen phrases, Ivan somehow managed to turn the conversation back in his favor.

But of course, Yao being the stubborn mule he'd always been, continued to deny Ivan, even through the tomato-red face he always had whenever his resolve was crumbling. He kept trying to turn the tables on Ivan and was always attempting to divert the topic.

Finally, Ivan decided that he should just be blatant. They weren't going to go anywhere if the conversation kept going around in circles like this.

Interrupting the interrogations concerning the swiftness of Ivan's interest in him, Ivan approached Yao and offered an explanation that was both simple and completely honest.

Kissing Yao's delicate hand and silently rejoicing at being able to hold it once more—even for just that single infinitesimal moment—Ivan whispered, "I believe in fate."

That was finally what won Yao over, but not before he used his usually-concealed evil side to scare Ivan into thinking that he didn't want to go anyway.

Nevertheless, Ivan was promised tomorrow. And Yao had never been the type to break his promises. That flaw was one more associated with Ivan.


	5. Chapter 5

What if something bad happened? What if Ivan had a personal agenda completely unbeknownst to him?

Ivan refused to reveal exactly where they were going when he called last night, but hinted that Yao should bring extra clothes and any other items that he might find necessary for an overnight trip.

His pulse quickened, his heart raced, and…he smiled. He freaking _smiled_.

It was then that he realized his feelings were not those of fear or apprehension. Yao was consumed by excitement.

And thus, he also felt like an idiot. He was stupid. He wanted to bang his goddamn head on the wall. Maybe that would wake him up. Because this whole situation with Ivan was getting _way_ out of hand.

Plus, he couldn't rid himself of the nagging feeling that Ivan was not someone to trust. And usually, a gut-feeling of this magnitude was enough to dissuade him from going through with anything.

But this time…this time his desires got the better of him. He wanted to hear Ivan's thoughts; wanted to stare deeper into his amethyst orbs; wanted to be the one his sweet words of affection would permeate. Yao wanted to see what would happen if he let Ivan in…he wanted to know if he would fall deeper.

It was bizarre. As far as Yao knew, he had never been the type to develop genuine feelings for someone right after meeting them. In fact, he had never been the type to develop genuine feelings for _anyone_ , period.

_And then this weirdo comes along and changes everything and makes me feel gullible and like a complete and total dumbass and now my phone is ringing and_ where the hell _did I put it?_

"Hello?" Yao panted, having unearthed the device beneath a massive stack of papers from the restaurant.

"Good morning, little Yao!" Ivan chirped. "I am outside. Are you ready?"

_I shouldn't even be coming!_

"Uhh…give me a minute…"

Yao put the call on hold and took a deep breath, then gathered his already-packed belongings.

Despite fighting the urge with all his might, he began packing right after he ended the call with Ivan last night; he had been ready to go for hours.

Yao composed himself and made sure his voice was steady before resuming the call. "Okay, I'm ready. I'll be down in a bit."

He could hear Ivan smiling even through the receiver. "I look forward to it,"

"Hey, Ivan?" Yao said, a sudden thought occurring to him.

There was silence on the other end.

"Hello?" he tried again. Yao could still hear Ivan's soft breathing, so he knew the call hadn't ended.

"Forgive me. I was taken by surprise…you called me by my name…I'm sorry…" Ivan sounded slightly mystified. "What was it that you needed?"

Realizing that he did indeed say the name aloud, Yao's cheeks were engulfed by a blazing inferno, and the small amount of bravado and confidence that he had managed to muster the night before came crashing down. He felt somewhat weakened…but then again, he had caught Ivan off guard for once…

He took another deep, steadying breath. "I just wanted you to know, don't you _dare_ do anything stupid."

More silence. Then Ivan chuckled, recovered and back to his old self. "Do not worry. We will be accompanied for the most part throughout this trip."

"Okay, then."

Relieved—but also with the tiniest, most unexpected twinge of disappointment—Yao made his way downstairs.

Upon seeing Ivan, wearing a different—but equally dashing—white suit, his heart began to dance the swiftest of tarantellas.

Ivan opened the door of the white limo and Yao obligingly stepped inside. The Russian man climbed in after him, and the two sat across from each other.

After a few minutes into the drive, Yao—though looking out the window at the passing buildings—could still feel the intense heat of Ivan's stare burning through his skin. And the violet gaze refused to abate.

This went on until Yao could no longer endure the tension-filled silence. "So, where are we going?"

The other man's features broke into the same seductive expression that he had first seen when he met Ivan. Yao's lungs seem to have run into some complications; suddenly he had difficulty drawing air.

"Would you like for me to tell you now? Or would you rather we keep it a surprise?" Ivan asked.

Yao weighed his options. A surprise would be nice, but he felt as though he wouldn't be able to function correctly unless he knew exactly where they were going. He'd be nervous and doubtful. Maybe hesitation would take over instead of excitement.

"Now," Yao replied firmly.

I was Ivan's turn to look out the window. "We are going to Paris."

...

The shock kept his mouth glued shut. Yao couldn't have protested even if he wanted to. And that was the other thing. Despite the common sense and the modesty fighting like mad, telling him to back out of the trip, Yao instead found himself looking forward to it even more.

And that was how he and Ivan ended up boarding a top-notch airline plane on a first-class flight to Paris.

To Yao's great surprise, Ivan fell asleep the moment his head touched the back of the seat. He took time to drink in the mysterious man's beautiful features—long eyelashes that brushed his cheeks, the sturdy jawline that never failed to curve into a wonderful smile, even the adorably oversized nose. By the time the plane landed, Yao had memorized Ivan's entire face down to every small detail. And he had no qualms about any of it.

It was apparently supposed to be a long trip, almost twelve hours, but Yao felt as though each hour lasted only a minute. In no time, he found himself gently shaking Ivan awake as the seats around them began to empty.

"Hmm?" he mumbled tiredly. Then Ivan opened his marvelous violet eyes and his features immediately broke into a smile upon seeing who woke him up. "Do not get me used to this, little Yao. I will want it more and more."

Their eyes met for a second—a second that stretched far longer than a second should ever be able to.

And suddenly Yao was all too aware of the closeness of their faces. His heart stammered, his palms suddenly felt slippery, and he immediately averted his gaze, distancing himself once more, as he noticed that they were the only people left in the cabin.

Ivan seemed to have sensed Yao's hesitation, for he did not advance any further. He got up and led both of them out of the plane.

Compelled to break the awkward silence that ensued, Yao decide to inquire about their trip. "How long are we staying here? And what are we going to do?"

They were at the baggage claim, and Ivan hauled both of their luggage with ease. "We are only staying until tomorrow…unless of course, you would like for us to remain here longer, so we are able to do more things," he said suggestively. And sneaking a glance at Yao, he laughed as he caught sight of the small man's scandalized expression. "I am only joking. We will leave tomorrow afternoon. But as for what we will be doing, that has to stay a surprise."

Yao raised an eyebrow.

"I promise it will not be anything that would make you uncomfortable. We will not be alone when we go out tonight. And we have separate hotel rooms."

It was Yao's turn to laugh. "We better,"

Ivan chuckled. "Shall we go?"

Yao nodded, smiling. "Let's go."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, the italicized chapters that will appear on occasion--such as this one--are memories from Ivan's past. Flashbacks, if you would.
> 
> Now, back to the story...

" _You called?"_

_Lavrenti's lips curled into a sneer. "Ahh, Ivan. Good to see you again,"_

" _What do you need?" Ivan asked coldly._

_His eyes flashed maliciously. "Come now. That is no way to treat the man who spared you and your family. You know I could have killed you if I so desired…"_

_Ivan glared at Lavrenti, the being who ruined him, feeling nothing but intense hatred and severe loathing coursing through his every vein._

_Lavrenti laughed coldly. "I know you think that this is not your fault. And it isn't, my boy. I apologize for the fact that your father was most unwise."_

_Ivan clenched his fists. "Do not talk about that man in front of me."_

_Yes, his father. The man who was_ supposed _to be the one who protects the family, not the one that destroys it. But that's exactly what he did. His insatiable addiction to money had driven him to steal some from none other than the Russian mafia itself. And where was he now? Rotting somewhere six feet underground because of his stupidity._

_Ivan would not have been dragged into any of this had it not been for his damned father's idiocy. Now, as the eldest and only son, Ivan would have to repay the debt by serving under Lavrenti for god knows how long. Unless he wanted his sisters to suffer the same fate as their father._

" _Ah, I seem to have hit a nerve," said Lavrenti. "I do not blame you. Needless to say your father_ was _a worthless man."_

_Ivan could feel the anger throbbing at his temples. "Why did you call on me?"_

_Lavrenti raised an eyebrow. "Your enthusiasm is bewitching, my boy." He remarked sarcastically. "But very well, if you are that eager, I will get straight to the point. I have another job for you."_

" _What is it?" Ivan asked monotonously._

_Lavrenti stroked his beard thoughtfully. "The leader of our Chinese counterpart has declared his opposition towards me. His mafia men executed one of our own. You are to go to China and dispose of him." His eyes gleamed dangerously. "I will not promise this operation is easy, but it is essential that we get it done. We only get one chance. Should you fail to do so, you know the price. I can easily get to your sisters and make their deaths appear…accidental."_

_Ivan blanched, but his voice remained steady. "Do not touch my sisters. I have always done what you have asked of me. This time will not be any different."_

_Lavrenti lips curled upwards once more, but his eyes remained unsmiling. "Very good. This is why you are one of my favorites. Such a noble and talented boy, you are. Now go. I have prepared all the necessary transportation."_

_Ivan walked away without a word. Another murder? He already lost count of how many men he'd had to kill on behalf of Lavrenti. But not once did Ivan ever forget that if he failed any of his orders, the punishment would be thrust upon Katyusha and Natalia. The only family he had left. Given the choice between killing a hundred more men and losing his sisters, Ivan would easily pick the former. He was determined never to let any harm come to them._

_He was not like his father. Ivan will protect everything he holds dear—even at the expense of his own humanity._

...

_Disgusted, he wiped his victims' blood off of his hands and face. The substance seeped through every crack and crevice on the warehouse floor. Ivan hated blood. He despised the watery consistency, the deadly red color, and the sharp, metallic smell. And now his shoes were practically drowning in it._

_The job had been messier than he anticipated. Lavrenti informed him that the men guarding the Chinese leader were mostly amateurs—that only a handful were professionals. But he must have had it backwards, for many of them were trained. Very well._

_But Ivan was deadlier. He wasn't Lavrenti's favorite hit man for no reason. He knew how to creep about soundlessly, knew how to look for places that would easily conceal him, knew how to lock and aim his weapon with lethal precision._

_Even though Ivan was outnumbered twenty-to-one, not a single shot was wasted. They all died one after the other, before any of them could even decipher what had killed them. Ivan escaped the bloodbath with only a small graze on his shoulder due to a ricocheting bullet._

_He poured gasoline all over the warehouse floor, making sure to drench the bodies. It was also protocol under Lavrenti's leadership to dispose of any weapons or articles of clothing utilized during an operation in order to erase all evidence, so Ivan changed his clothes and shoes, then placed the blood-covered ones, along with the gun he used, into a container filled with even more gasoline._

_He lit a match, removed his gloves, stepped outside, and watched as the abandoned warehouse was slowly consumed by the raging flames._

_No longer able to handle the acrid smell of burning flesh permeating the air, Ivan stepped into the black car that Lavrenti had sent to wait for him._

_His sisters were safe for now. Ivan's job was finished._


	7. Chapter 7

Ivan gave him two options: rest in the hotel room until nighttime, or have him call a chauffeur so that Yao could tour Paris by himself. Apparently he wouldn't be able to go with Yao because he had some business to take care of.

He opted to stay in the hotel room. Passing up the tour _did_ make him feel like crap though…then again, he _already_ felt like crap because of the jet lag, which was one reason he didn't accept the offer in the first place. The second reason was because Ivan flat-out refused to let Yao pay for anything, and he was aware of how expensive the flight alone already cost. And third, it wouldn't be much fun to do a tour alone…well…yeah, he might as well admit it…it wouldn't be much fun without Ivan in particular.

Which was stupid, because before he met Ivan, Yao was perfectly content with traveling by himself. In fact, he absolutely relished being alone. Peace, quiet, and privacy were his life's philosophies. But now…really, Yao should start making a list of how many preferences Ivan managed to change in a span of three days.

On the other hand, the hotel room wasn't bad at all. Although it really shouldn't be called a _room_ , because it was roughly the size of a _house_. Ivan booked the two best suites in Paris' finest five-star hotel. Yao didn't even want to see the bill—he was afraid his eyes would pop out of their sockets and roll away.

Did Ivan do this to everyone he's ever been attracted to? Did he also shower them with lavishness and grandeur? It wouldn't be surprising if this was his tactic—using his money and good-looks to make others feel special. Because it was a very, _very_ effective one.

Yao wanted to believe he was the only one. The exception. But it was highly unlikely, especially considering Ivan's appearance and wealth. He can't have been the only person Ivan had ever treated this way. Yao was probably the most recent of a list that reached the hundreds. He knew it couldn't be helped, and yet his chest swelled with an irrational anger at the thought of Ivan with someone else.

One thing, however, stood out above all. It bothered him—nagged at the corners of his mind almost relentlessly. Despite knowing all of this, despite being aware of the high probability that he was nothing more than a mere plaything, a distraction to Ivan…Yao realized that he _didn't care_. He didn't care about Ivan's motives, whatever they were. He didn't care about the fact that Ivan might just be using him—that the whole affair wasn't genuine. Because to him, it was riveting and exhilarating and mind-bogglingly breathtaking.

One thing's for sure, Yao was starting to crave the Russian man's voice; his actions, his smile, his intense eyes, his everything.

Damn. He felt as though he jumped into the deep-end of a pool without water—and somehow still managed to drown.

...

"Do you trust me?"

"Wait, what are you—?"

"Do you trust me, little Yao?" Ivan asked again.

Yao raised his eyebrows. "It depends. I mean, you're holding a freaking blindfold."

The corners of Ivan's eyes creased adorably as he smiled. He seemed calm and collected, but Ivan was sending off waves and waves of infectious excitement. Yao could not stop his heart from drumming faster. "This is part of your surprise. If you do not wear this, you will find out immediately where we are going. I would like to know if you will trust me by agreeing to wear it,"

Yao was done hesitating. He was sick of doubting. All he wanted to do was live in this moment with Ivan—see where things go with the wonderful man standing before him. He smiled. "Yes, I trust you."

Ivan's gaze softened. "Thank you,"

Then he was behind Yao, robbing him of his sense of sight as he gently tied the blindfold. Apparently, it was true what people say about other senses heightening when one is incapacitated. Though he could not see, Yao was all too aware of the close proximity of their bodies. He felt Ivan's warmth, the small breaths tickling the nape of his neck. And Yao suddenly found himself yearning for more than just proximity.

Ivan took his hand and a thousand fluttering butterflies invaded his stomach. Yao stiffened. Not out of fear, but out of…well…even he couldn't quite explain it himself.

"Do not worry," Ivan reassured, feeling him tense. "I am simply doing this to ensure you will not trip or bump your head anywhere."

He wanted to reply and tell Ivan it was okay, but his throat seemed to have closed completely. Feeling Ivan's firm hand enclosing his own rendered him completely inarticulate. But when Ivan let go after they climbed into a car, Yao immediately felt as though he had lost something. He did not want that warm hand to let go.

Yao decided that he did not enjoy having his sense of sight taken away like this. It wasn't a pleasant experience, sitting still without being able to see where they were going or what was happening around him. And it was rather uncomfortable not knowing which direction to face, because even through the blindfold, he could practically _feel_ Ivan's gaze fixed on him.

The drive was surprisingly short, and in no time his hand was back within Ivan's. A gentle breeze was tickling his face. They were outside…that was all he could tell.

Ivan dropped his hand and Yao panicked. He couldn't tell where he was standing, and for all he knew, it could be right next to a goddamn street. He could hear cars whooshing past and horns beeping loudly somewhere close by. "H-hey! Ivan! Wh-where did you g—?"

Yao's breath hitched, his heart skipped multiple beats, and his hair stood on end when the larger man approached him from behind. Yeah, he definitely _did not_ like the blindfold. He tried to control the shaking, but he seemed no longer in charge of his own body.

"Are you ready, little Yao?" inquired Ivan softly.

"Ready for what, exactly?" he stammered.

Ivan let out a small laugh and loosened the blindfold.

"Surprise," he whispered in Yao's ear, sending a jolt of electricity running through his spine.

Whatever he was supposed to be looking at was so bright that it took his eyes a moment to adjust. But when they did, Yao couldn't contain the gasp that fled from his lips.

They were standing directly in front of the Eiffel Tower, illuminated brilliantly by a thousand twinkling lights. Above them was a sky spattered with stars. The moon was a perfect circle and the night was breezy and wonderful.

His ears picked up music, and Yao's gaze was caught by what was underneath the tower. If his jaw could drop all the way down to the floor, it probably would have at that moment. A table set for two, candlelit and all, was positioned smack in the middle of the tower's base. A string quartet, playing beautiful melodies, stood beside it.

"Do you like it?" Ivan asked tentatively.

"Buddha help me," was all Yao could manage in reply.

Ivan chuckled, taking his hand and leading him to the table. "I will take that as a yes."


	8. Chapter 8

_Lavrenti flexed his fingers, evidently trying to assert control over his temper. "Someone escaped, Ivan."_

_Frigid, icy dread slowly crept through every inch of Ivan's body and engulfed him in a cold so intense, he felt his hands tremble slightly. "That's impossible. I killed every single man in that warehouse."_

" _Yes, you did. You killed every single_ man _." He replied, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "But perhaps you failed to notice that the enemy's young daughter was present as well,"_

_Ivan's gaze dropped to the floor. He_ did _notice her. He knew about her—found her staring wide-eyed at the bodies strewn all across the warehouse floor; heard her cry out; watched her run towards the body of the Chinese mafia leader, and saw her clutch it tightly, trying to shake it awake. If it had been anyone else—anyone but that girl sobbing desperately for her father—he would not have hesitated for even a moment. Easily and instantly, he would have pulled the trigger. But watching the young girl embracing her father's corpse, hearing her scream fruitlessly for him, activated the last bit of humanity left in Ivan's conscience._

_He remembered how he tried desperately—just like this little girl—to shake his own mother awake the day after his father's death, when he found her lying unconscious in a pool of her own blood, a gun beside her hand. He shouted and shook her and pleaded for her to open her eyes, to breathe, to remember she still had three children who needed her. He tried for hours, clutching at her stiff body, despite knowing that there was no more hope; that she was long gone._

_Ivan purposefully knocked over a metal barrel to get the girl's attention. She jumped and finally noticed him, eyes dilated with fear. Fear and something else—something that resembled the look of an animal in the face of its predator. Ivan's heart, which he thought could no longer feel such emotions as sympathy, twisted in agony when he realized that the look on her face was acceptance. She accepted her fate _—_ what she thought was her inevitable death._

_He lowered his gun and told her to go. Her small, tear-stained eyes widened in surprise. Ivan repeated himself. Though they spoke different languages, the girl seemed to understand what he said and ran off without looking back. Then he proceeded to set the warehouse ablaze._

" _Something tells me—" Lavrenti began, snapping Ivan out of his trance. "—that she escaped with a little help."_

" _And what could possibly make you think that?" Ivan asked in return, his voice steady, but his stomach giving an unpleasant lurch._

" _Do not lie to me, Ivan." He hissed venomously. "Up until this point, I honored you with my favor. I treated you well. And this is what I get in return?"_

_Ivan opened his mouth to retaliate, but Lavrenti cut him off with a single, heart-stopping sentence. "I was watching you the entire time."_

_Ivan's eyes widened as he registered the words._

" _I was just about ready to promote you to a higher position since you had been doing so well." Lavrenti continued. "I wanted you as my right-hand man, in fact. I had the warehouse surveilled so that I could watch you in action; see how much you could please me with your skills. But what I saw did not please me at all."_

" _She was just a child," Ivan said. "It would be below any of us to claim the life of an innocent girl."_

_Lavrenti shook his head. "Ah, but that 'innocent' girl nearly ruined everything for us. You would have been discovered, and your actions would have been traced back to me. By the time our men caught her, she was a block away form the police station."_

_Ivan's disbelieving eyes met Lavrenti's cold, dark stare. "_ _Caught_?"

_His lips curled into a murderous smile. "Bring her in here!" barked Lavrenti._

_Two men walked into the room grasping a single struggling figure by the arms. Ivan knew at once that it was the same girl he let escape the previous day. Her hands were tied behind her back, and the cloth stuffed in her mouth kept her from speaking. But upon seeing Ivan, she began to cry out desperately. And though he couldn't understand exactly what she was shrieking, her terrified eyes were begging him for help. Ivan looked away ashamedly, knowing he was helpless—knowing he no longer possessed the power to aid her in this circumstance._

_The little girl, who seemed no older than eleven, kicked and yelled and thrashed, trying uselessly to free herself from the iron-clutches of the two men who were three times her size._

" _Silence her." Lavrenti ordered, waving his hand impatiently._

_And it was over before Ivan even had the chance to blink. The sound of the gunshot rent the air like a bomb, and the little girl fell to the floor in a heap, her eyes still wide and pleading, but glassy and unseeing. The blood slowly seeped through and stained the carpeted floor, dyeing the snowy white a deadly shade of red._

_Ivan felt a massive lump obstructing his airway and he swallowed hard to keep himself from vomiting._

" _You should have realized that if you did not kill her, we would." Lavrenti sighed. "You have disappointed me beyond forgiveness, Ivan. And I believe we had an agreement as to what would happen if you failed me."_

_Ivan heard two blood-curdling, terrifyingly familiar voices scream from the room next to the one in which he was standing, and two more gunshots cracked the air, the sound ricocheting off the walls. The screams were immediately subdued and a heavy silence settled around the place. Mind-numbing disbelief dominated Ivan. Lavrenti couldn't have…there was no way…_

_He tore across the room, out the door, and into the adjacent chamber. The sharp, metallic smell of blood was the first to assault his senses. When his mind finally registered the sight before him, the weight of the world was dropped onto Ivan's shoulders, and his knees gave way. He collapsed to the ground, screaming, digging his gloved hands into his face._

_Katyusha and Natalia were sprawled on the blood-soaked floor, their eyes open, but unmistakably dead._


	9. Chapter 9

Yao drummed his fingers rhythmically on the table, unable to find anything else to do with himself. Ivan rented the entire space underneath the _Eiffel freaking_ _Tower_ just for the two of them, and the setting was beautiful and majestic and all, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to enjoy given the almost-tangible amount of tension engulfing the air. He had expected himself to do something stupid, something that would shatter that tension and be cause for a good laugh. Ironically enough, his clumsiness failed him when he actually needed it most. He considered doing something on purpose, but his pride wouldn't be able to stand even the merest idea of making a deliberate mistake. Which is why their dinner proceeded in one of the most awkward silences ever conceivable, Yao silently thanking the heavens for the presence of the string quartet.

Not a word passed between them as they ate, their eyes meeting infrequently and briefly. Ivan was strangely subdued, and Yao kept his vision locked mostly on the food that was in front of him. But when the food was gone, there were no more distractions. He was waiting for Ivan to take charge as usual, but the damn Russian just continued to stare at him wordlessly.

Yao met Ivan's gaze and blinked a few times. Ivan blinked back but stayed silent as a stone. Yao cleared his throat, Ivan did the same. And finally he had had enough. " _Aiyah_! I swear if you don't talk in the next ten seconds, I will board a flight back to Los Angeles right this instant and you will never see me again!" he exclaimed angrily.

At this, Ivan's face split into a wide smile. "I was wondering when you would crack, little Yao." He chuckled. "You lasted much longer than I rem—" Ivan stopped abruptly and cleared his throat again. "—much longer than I expected. You look very adorable when you do not know what to do."

Yao flushed then raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly were you trying to achieve by doing that?"

"I wanted to see if you would talk to me first if I did not initiate a conversation." He grinned.

Yao absolutely loathed how much Ivan's smile affected his heart rate and respiratory functions. "And now that you got me to talk," he said through gritted teeth, hating himself for giving in to Ivan's stupid experiment so easily. "What are you planning to do?"

"Hmm? Nothing has changed. I will still do everything I had planned on doing since the first moment I laid eyes on you."

Yao scoffed and rolled his eyes amusedly, biting back a smile. Ivan could let the cheesiest sayings come out of his mouth sometimes…yet…he still somehow managed to sound sincere and utterly genuine when he said them. And the effect on Yao was instantaneous. His pulse pounded hard against his neck and wrists. He found himself believing the words—found himself clinging on to them like a vice—despite the fact that he had heard many similar lines repeated over and over in pretty much every drama and chick-flick known to man.

But then Ivan rose—snapping Yao out of his stupor—and did something completely unexpected.

Ivan always seemed like the type of man who cared very much about his appearance and reputation. So Yao was caught by surprise when he suddenly found himself being pulled to his feet. He felt Ivan's hand sneak itself around his waist. A sensation similar to being shocked by an electrical current jolted quickly up his spine. Ivan placed one of Yao's hands on his shoulder as he enclosed the other within his own.

"Wh-what are you doing?!" Yao protested. "People will see!"

Ivan shrugged his firm shoulders. "Let them see."

Yao swallowed with difficulty. He enjoyed the exhilarating feeling that Ivan's touch was giving him, but he knew how society worked—knew how the sight of two men dancing together would be viewed through the eyes of other people. He did not want Ivan to have to endure that kind of ridicule because of him. "Ivan, please. People will talk about you badly."

Ivan's face suddenly turned solemn. "And what makes you think I care about how others see me? The only person whose opinion I truly care about is standing right before me." He brushed a finger gently over Yao's cheek, causing Yao's stomach to lodge itself somewhere in his throat. "Everyone else can say or think as they please. And besides, does it really matter what we are, little Yao?"

Yao's lips curved into a shy smile as he met Ivan's gaze. "No. I guess it doesn't."

Ivan suddenly smirked, leaned down, and whispered quietly into Yao's ear. "But, if you are _that_ concerned about how we are being viewed by others, let me reassure you by saying you can very easily pass as a woman."

Yao pushed him away and glared at him with the intensity of a thousand daggers. "Don't push it, Braginski."

Ivan laughed. A real laugh. A beautiful, wonderful sound that sent shivers running through Yao's body and left him craving more.

Ivan yanked him back. "Then stop thinking about such things and dance with me, _da_?" And easily, effortlessly, Yao felt himself being led into a slow waltz, in perfect rhythm with the ballad that the quartet had begun to play. He lost himself in the dance, seeing nothing but the man before him, nothing but those mystical eyes and the gaze that weakened him so.

Something flashed in Yao's mind. For a fleeting moment he remembered seeing those same beautiful eyes and that same warm smile somewhere before. But the memory trickled away as swiftly as it had appeared, and Yao was left feeling confused at how unnaturally familiar Ivan seemed to him; how quickly he had caused Yao's heart to flutter towards him.

As the danced together wordlessly, seamlessly beneath the brilliant tower, beneath the sky splattered with millions and millions of iridescent stars, each step brought Yao closer to finally admitting and accepting his feelings. And stupid as it may sound, he was now helplessly in love with Ivan Braginski.

...

Ivan escorted Yao to the front of his hotel room, and for a while the two just stood in complete silence. Then Yao cleared his throat, smiling a little. "Thanks for tonight, Ivan. Really, I had a lot of fun." He rubbed his arm uncomfortably, not knowing what else to say. "Well, then…uh, see you in the morning."

A small part of Yao did not want the night to end like this. He wanted more time with Ivan. But asking for that just seemed so…wrong; so immodest. Yao had neither the audacity nor the bravado to take charge in any kind of situation. He had always been the type of person who simply accepted whatever was being thrown at him. So he fought the desire down and decided that getting as much distance between himself and Ivan would be the best solution.

But as he turned to leave, he felt Ivan grab his hand. "Yao," he whispered in a voice so low, Yao had to strain to hear it. And this was saying something, as they were in a deserted corridor.

Confused and slightly hopeful, he turned back to Ivan. "Yes?"

Yao was taken aback at the look on Ivan's face. The usual airy, light demeanor was nowhere to be seen, and had been replaced by an expression of the utmost need. Of the utmost desire. His features were contorted into a serious look that sent Yao's pulse into a frenzy and had his body aching with want.

"Yao," Ivan repeated, his eyes intense and serious. "I want to kiss you."

Feeling the last bit of his resolve crumbling down and eroding away, Yao realized that he no longer needed to hold himself back—no longer needed to deny himself what he wanted most. Ivan had accepted him wholeheartedly, awkward and snappish though he may be. Yao saw at last that there was no more need to stay guarded. He realized that being afraid would only be a hindrance, keeping him from experiencing life as it should be lived.

And finally getting rid of the last of his defenses, Yao submitted himself wholly to temptation. "Do it."

Ivan did not need telling twice. It seemed all he had been waiting for was Yao's approval. And now that he had gained it, he ceased holding back and nothing stopped him from slamming their lips together. The force of the contact sent them both stumbling to the wall, Ivan pinning Yao against the cold surface. One of his hands looped around Yao's waist and yanked their bodies closer together, while the other entangled itself within his hair, releasing the long dark locks from the clasp that kept them tied up.

Yao's body burned with a sensation he had never experienced before. The intensity of their moving lips was both elating and wonderfully exhilarating. Feeling Ivan's tongue parting his lips, feeling it subjugating his mouth sent shockwaves of pleasure shooting through every fiber of his being.

He hastily rummaged in his pocket for the card that would unlock the room. The kiss only had to be broken for a split-second before they came crashing inside the suite, their mouths working furiously, tongues waging a fiery war. The bedroom seemed light years away from where they were and Ivan seemed to have felt the same way. They found themselves landing on the large couch instead, the larger man towering over him formidably. His hands roamed Yao's body—explored it like he owned it, and in that moment, he may as well have.

Ivan broke the connection, only to bear his lips down upon Yao's neck. Jolts of electricity shot up his spine and a moan unknowingly flew from his mouth as the man handling him so easily, so perfectly, brushed soft lips over the crook of his neck. Then Ivan bit down and Yao cried out both from the pain and the pleasure of feeling this wonderful man dominating his entire being.

Ivan looked up at Yao, panting. "This mark means you are mine, little Yao. All mine."

Then he brought their lips together once more, his hands working to undo Yao's tie, as Yao himself attempted to get Ivan out of his suit jacket.

Through the waves of intense pleasure taking over his body, Yao managed only to form one clear thought, and that was how Ivan seemed to know exactly how to handle him. He placed his kisses in areas that Yao couldn't help but react to. His hands roved Yao's body with just the right amount of knowledge as to what gave him the most pleasure.

With only dress shirts left on their upper bodies, Ivan's hands moved automatically down to the belt on Yao's pants. Out of nowhere the fear suddenly kicked its way into his system and Yao found himself stopping Ivan.

"What's wrong, little Yao?" asked Ivan, genuinely concerned.

"I-I've never…I don't know…" he stammered. "I can't…"

Ivan's gaze softened and he stroked Yao's cheek gently with a finger. "There is no need to worry. I will not rush you. We will not do this until you are ready."

Feeling a surge of affection invade his system, he placed a trembling hand on Ivan's face. "I'm sorry,"

Ivan turned his face to the side and kissed Yao's palm. "Do not apologize. When we do this, I want you to want it as much as I do. No hesitations." he replied, though unable to mask the small hint of disappointment in his voice. "It appears this is not the right time yet. I will wait, little Yao. As long as it takes." The look on his face told Yao that he meant it.

Slightly guilty, but also somewhat relieved, Yao pulled Ivan down and kissed him gently. "Thank you."

He couldn't quite explain even to himself the reason why he was so afraid of fully connecting with Ivan. It wasn't that he did not desire it, _god_ he wanted it more than anything. But he felt it was much too soon to go that far. It had only been three days, for goodness' sake. The fact that Ivan understood, however—the fact that he said he would wait—warmed Yao's heart considerably and caused him to fall all the more deeper for the amethyst-eyed man. He knew that there would one day come a time when the doubts would vanish into thin air. A time when he will have no more hesitations. And when that time came, he would gladly welcome Ivan into his arms, accept him without qualm, and finally be able to express out loud the emotion that had been tugging so powerfully at his heart.  

Ivan settled on the couch beside him and pulled him close, placing a gentle kiss in Yao's hair. "Can I stay tonight, though?" he asked hopefully.

"Let me think about it." He replied jokingly.

He could tell Ivan was smiling even through the darkness.

Then Yao laced his fingers through Ivan's and smiled to himself. "Of course."


	10. Chapter 10

_Ivan hung his head low, unable to comprehend the sight that lay before him. He looked into his sisters' lifeless eyes and wondered vaguely why the world had not ended yet. Why didn't it die along with them? Why was he still alive? The only reason for his existence had been snatched away from him. He lived to protect Katyusha and Natalia, and now that they were gone, what was the point of living?_

_But to his surprise, Ivan somehow found himself drowned with the desire to keep living. His body was pounding with a savage hatred. He felt the thirst for vengeance coursing through his veins, demanding to be quenched. Ivan needed to live. He must live in order to avenge his sisters. Must live to ensure that they will never be forgotten._

_He knew what must be done. And as these thoughts flew across his mind, his ears picked up an unnatural sound. A sound that did not belong where he was. Laughter—cold and humorless, derisive and hysterical—echoed around the room and bounced off the walls, magnified tenfold by the ricocheting. It took him a moment to realize that the unearthly sound was issuing from his own mouth._

_Ivan rose, still laughing, eyes glinting manically. He fastened his fingers around the icy cold handle of the handgun in his pocket, and before they even had a chance to register what was about to happen to them, the two men who pulled the triggers at his sisters lay dead on the floor beneath Ivan's murderous glare. He let out a satisfied scream, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, all the while laughing as he had never laughed before._

_Then he charged back into the room where sat the man who was responsible for taking away everything that mattered to him—the one responsible for destroying his life. Within seconds the men guarding Lavrenti were brought down one after another, until the mafia leader himself was the only living soul left apart from Ivan._

_Ivan approached Lavrenti slowly, almost in a dreamlike manner, and gently aimed the mouth of the gun on the side of his head. Lavrenti's surprise was quick to dissipate. "Your skills truly_ are _remarkable, my boy."_

" _Thank you," he replied, and he pushed the gun roughly against the man's temple. "Do you have anything else to say before I put those skills to use on you?"_

_Lavrenti was silent for a moment. "You have made many enemies tonight, Ivan. We members of the mafia—even I, the leader—can be easily replaced. There will be more who will hunt you down, and you know it."_

_Ivan brought their faces together until they were barely inches apart. "You killed everyone I loved. You and your people." He hissed venomously at the man's face. But Lavrenti merely looked uninterested, effectively riling up Ivan's fury even more. "Let them come!" He screamed. "Let them come, and they will end up just like you!"_

_A split-second motion, a sound that shattered the air, and Lavrenti was on the ground beside his henchmen, breathing no more. Ivan collapsed on the floor laughing mirthlessly as the white carpet around him gradually turned into a sopping, sodden mass of red._

_Then Ivan returned to the room where his sisters lay and gently pressed his fingers against their faces, closing their beautiful eyes forever. He grasped their once-warm hands and felt them growing colder and colder with each passing second. The laughs slowly faded into child-like, desperate sobs as he tried to coax them into awakening, despite knowing full well that just like his mother, they were in a place where his voice would never be able to reach them again._

_..._

_Ivan established that the only time his grief ceased to be felt was whenever he drank himself senseless. At least for a brief few hours there would be nothing wrong with the world—there would be no world at all, in fact. Even if it was just temporary, Ivan found solace within the numbing clutches of liquor, and he would be unaware of anything…he would forget. And every time the memories would start trickling back, all he needed to do was drink some more._

_For months, this was how he spent the filthy money earned from working with the mafia: drunk and incoherent at a small inn in China. Ivan never found reason or cause to return to Russia. It was too painful to go back to place that he once was able to call home, only now to find it barren and hollow and lifeless._

_Ivan walked into his usual alcohol stop—a shabby, run-down place that was assumedly meant for foreigners since it was the only shop with an English sign—and purchased a dozen bottles of vodka. It tasted quite unlike the real vodka he used to drink back home and honestly rather terrible since it was a knock-off Chinese version, but the effect was still relatively strong and that was all he needed._

" _I hope you're throwing a party and not just planning on drinking all of that on your own." said a voice behind him._

_Ivan turned and looked down to find a small Chinese man glaring at him intensely. The man was about a head shorter than Ivan and fairly young. He had a perfect doll-like oval face that could easily be mistaken for a young woman's. But what intrigued Ivan the most was the amber—almost golden—color of the man's eyes, boring so deeply into his own._

_Though surprised that he was being spoken to in English after months of hearing nothing but rapid-fire Mandarin, Ivan managed to conceal his curiosity fairly well. He decided to poke fun at the small man instead. After all, there had been scarce enough humor in his life lately. "Why hello, little girl. You should not be in a place such as this,"_

_"I'm a guy!" The man flushed indignantly. "And I'm older than you would probably expect me to be."_

" _Oh is that so?" Ivan remarked mockingly. Then he narrowed his eyes. "It does not matter. Why are you sticking your nose into my business?"_

" _Because it's my business too. My family owns this shop. And I've heard about you. I don't care if you finish our entire supply, because it just gives us more money," the man mused. "But if you kill yourself in the process, I'll be interrogated for your stupidity."_

_Ivan raised an eyebrow, inwardly taken aback by the slender man's audacity. "And if I say that I_ am _trying to kill myself, what would you do?"_

" _I'd tell you to go commit suicide using someone else's liquor." He replied without skipping a beat. Then the man stalked off, heading to the back room._

_He didn't think he was capable of such an action anymore, but for the first time in what seemed like centuries, Ivan felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Wait. What is your name?"_

_The man stopped dead in his tracks and swiveled around, eyebrows raised quizzically. "You come at me with such an unpleasant attitude and now you're asking me for my name?"_

" _Yes I am." Ivan replied, now smiling for real as his gaze landed upon something amusing that the man was wearing. And to his advantage, it was written using the English alphabet._

" _Go bother someone else." He retorted as he waved Ivan away._

" _I am afraid that will not happen. You have caught my attention. I will come back tomorrow." He announced._

_The man smirked again. It seemed to be a habit of his. "You won't find me here. I work somewhere else. I just came to replenish the depleted supply."_

_Ivan gave a noncommittal shrug. "Then I will look for you." He answered as he walked away. But just as he was about to step out of the door, he turned back to the man and returned his smirk. "By the way, you are wearing a name-tag, Yao Wang." And Ivan left after seeing Yao's furious expression, feeling himself smile for the first time in months._


	11. Chapter 11

"I think it's about time we meet this dude for real!" Alfred yelled with his usual ear-assaulting enthusiasm.

Yao cringed and scowled. "Keep it down! This is an apartment, you idiot!" he hissed.

"Ah, but I do agree with 'im, monsieur." Francis piped in dreamily. "I would absolutely love to meet a man who can afford to rent ze entire space below _la tour Eiffel_."

"Oh shut up, you. You and Al are making my ears bleed," Arthur remarked. "Could we just let Yao finish recounting his trip before you interrupt with your delusions?"

Yao waved his hand dismissively. "There's no need. I have no intention of telling you anything else." He replied dryly.

Really, he loved being friends with these guys. But sometimes they could just be a bit too lively. Other times they were downright intolerable. Today was most likely the latter.

"Hmm? What is zis, monsieur?" Francis asked suggestively. "I sense zat something else 'appened. Something besides a dinner under ze stars…perhaps…" his eyebrows were zooming up and down at an impossible speed that had Yao mesmerized. "Later on in ze night? On a bed?"

Yao's mouth opened automatically. "It was on a couch," Then he slammed it shut, realizing what he had said, his face burning a fiery shade of scarlet. But not before three pairs of eyebrows had shot high up on their owners' foreheads.

"Bloody hell," Arthur breathed out, astonished.

He didn't mean to say…it was probably because he was thinking too much about the incident while Francis was…damn it, now they were all looking at him like he sprouted a cactus for a nose…

"N-no, I didn't mean…" Yao stuttered, trying to undo the damage he had no doubt caused himself. "I mean we just ended up there and I don't even remember—"

Alfred's eyes took on a mad gleam. "You did _it_?"

" _Mon dieu_! I never expected it to 'appen so soon with ze conservative one!" Francis said in reply to Alfred's comment.

"No, shut up and let me finish!" Yao exclaimed, blushing furiously. "We did _not_ go that far! We didn't go far at all! We just kissed and we—we may have fallen asleep together like that but _nothing happened_."

Francis shrugged skeptically. "If you say so,"

Yao felt his eye twitch. "We didn't do anything!"

"Well, there's only one way to find out." said Alfred, sounding oddly pleased.

Yao turned to look at what was giving the American's voice such satisfaction—it couldn't be good whenever he sounded like that, whatever the reason—and immediately lunged as Alfred waved Yao's phone jubilantly in the air. He tried to claw his way out, fought tooth and nail, but Francis and Arthur had Yao's waist in a death grip. They also covered his mouth tightly with their hands, stopping him from stopping the blue-eyed bastard from calling Ivan.

He hoped beyond all hope that the man would not pick up. Don't pick up, don't pick up, _don't pick up_ …but as was inevitable—

"You called, little Yao?"

All three of his so-called friends had to violently clamp hands over their own mouths to stop the guffaws and the snorts from becoming too audible. Yao desired nothing more than to gouge out their eyeballs and shove them down their throats…

"Yeah, okay. So see here commie," Alfred began. "I'm one of Yao's best friends, and I care very deeply about his personal life, so I just wanted to know if you two already went past the…uhh…smoochie-smoochie stage."

Francis had to stuff a fist in his mouth to keep his snickers in check, eyes streaming with the effort. Arthur was biting his lip, conflicted; looking as though he didn't want to enjoy what was going on but loved it nevertheless.

_…force eyeballs down their throats and shove pineapples up their asses…yes, what I would give to be able to torture them all…_

"No, we have not." Ivan replied flatly. Yao hoped the conversation would end right there, but to his utter horror Ivan kept going, the amusement in his voice clear as day. "But it will happen soon enough. Why? Do you have any suggestions as to how it should happen? As a concerned best friend, of course."

At this point, even Arthur's control was failing him. He was taking deep, shaky, steadying breaths.

"N-no," Alfred answered, quaking with barely-suppressed laughter. "Th-that's totally up to you two. I just wanted to know how far you'd gone. We thought Yao was lying to us, that's why."

"I see." said Ivan. "And I am guessing little Yao is being restrained somewhere in that room?"

A violent snort flew out of Alfred's nose and Yao let out a muffled sound of disgust. "Whoa, you're good!"

Yao heard Ivan's signature chuckle and wondered how the hell he ever found it charming. "Let us go somewhere, little Yao. I will pick you up tonight, _da_?"

"Never. Absolutely not. I refuse." Yao replied through gritted teeth when Francis and Arthur finally released his mouth. His cheeks felt hot enough to fry a whole goddamn chicken. "No."

"Alright. We will go tomorrow, then." Ivan mused. "I will call you again. Goodbye!" And just like that, the bastard hung up.

The moment the other end went dead, the guys exploded. Alfred was beating his fists on the floor, howling like a dying whale. Francis was rolling around on the ground, tears streaming down his face. Even Arthur—usually-composed, usually-reasonable Arthur—was clutching at his sides, gasping for much-needed oxygen.

Yao sat on the floor for a while, unable to decide whether to proceed with castrating them or laugh along with them, because—admit it or not—the whole situation _was_ pretty hilarious.

In the end, his brain reached a suitable compromise. Taking advantage of his friends' distraction, he made use of his old martial arts skills and aimed three lightning-quick, painful-as-all-hell kicks to their lower regions. Each impact resulted in a horrifyingly audible thud, and in less than a second, the laughs had transformed into groans and squeaks and other wonderful sounds of agony. Yao had guaranteed that they would be talking in high-pitched voices for at least an hour.

_Who's laughing now?_

...

"Hello," Yao greeted cheerfully, picking up Ivan's call.

"Hmm? I thought you would still be upset, little Yao."

"Oh, no. My _wonderful_ friends already got what they deserved." He replied a little too brightly.

"What did you do?" Ivan asked curiously.

"It's a secret." He answered mischievously.

Ha, like he would tell. Yao hadn't entirely forgiven Ivan for scarring his pride. Not quite yet. He had just better wait until tomorrow…

"I get the sense that little Yao is scheming something for me as well."

Yao smiled happily, knowing Ivan would be able to hear it in his voice. "You bet I am."

"There is no need. I am outside your door, ready to make a full apology."

He nearly fell off his chair. "You're _what_?! But you just hung up on Alfred a couple of minutes ago!"

"Yes. While I was on my way there."

Yao rushed to the door and opened it hastily.

"Hello!" waved Ivan jovially.

"What the hell! You can't just appear on my doorway without telling me first! My friends are still here!"

Ivan smiled brightly. "All the better. I brought food and drinks."

"Pointless," Yao muttered under his breath, relenting. He let Ivan inside reluctantly. "I don't think they're in any condition to eat. Or move, for that matter."

The sight was quite…pitiful. Pitiful and, yes, slightly humorous. His three friends were curled up on the floor in obvious anguish, each clutching at their vital regions.

Ivan looked at Yao, his eyebrows knitted in surprise. "Maybe I should not underestimate what you can do, after all…"

Yao replied with a triumphant huff.

"Oh," Alfred squeaked. "The commie's here,"

"So, the one over there with the glasses and stupid hair is Alfred Jones. The one you spoke with earlier." Yao introduced.

"Don't forget the 'F', Yao." He groaned. "Alfred F. Jones."

"Yeah, whatever." he interrupted. "The one with the long hair and overly colorful clothes is Francis Bonnefoy, and the one with the uhh… _majestic_ …eyebrows is Arthur Kirkland."

"Yes, point that out, why don't you?" Arthur remarked sarcastically, rising and limping to the couch. "Not the green eyes or the messy hair. Point out the eyebrows."

"Zey are your most distinct feature," Francis pointed out, rolling over to his stomach to get a better look at Ivan.

Arthur chucked a pillow in the Frenchman's direction. "Zip it, you bloody frog."

Yao turned to Ivan. "These are my friends."

Ivan chuckled. "It is nice to meet you."

" 'Sup!" Alfred managed, recovered enough to use that arrogantly superior tone of voice.

"Pleasure," Arthur said gruffly.

"You are rather good-looking." Francis stated. " 'Ow did Yao score so well? Come and tell us 'ow you met him, monsieur." he gestured to Ivan.

Yao snatched Ivan's arm and turned him away from his friends. "Yeah, let's go eat. Leave them alone to die. Also," he shot a glare at those sparkling violet eyes. "One word about us, and I will make sure you never walk again."

"Oh, but that is my job, little Yao." Ivan chuckled. "I am in charge of incapacitating _your_ lower half." And he walked away to set the table without another word.

Snorts flew from the couch and the full meaning of Ivan's statement hit him a second later. A furious crimson blush began to paint Yao's cheeks. "You just…you…you can't go saying things like that in other people's houses, stupid!"

Ivan merely laughed.

"And don't you go laughing it off either!" he barked, stomping his foot repeatedly on the floor, subconsciously thinking how pissed the downstairs neighbor probably was because of all the ruckus.

Despite his scandalized response, however, Yao's body seemed to have reacted completely differently to the words. His mind told him that it was a really indecent thing, what Ivan said. But judging from the way his heart started swooping and his palms began sweating—the way they always did whenever he was excited—some other factor was being considered within him. Yao knew he rejected Ivan's initial attempt at going further during those charged moments in Paris just days ago, and even though he knew he still wasn't exactly prepared for the experience yet, a small part of him couldn't help but think about what it would be like to see Ivan lose his usual composure. What it would be like to see Ivan undone. Just the thought sent shivers up his spine.

"I like this guy," Alfred whispered to Yao, snapping him out of his trance. Arthur shot Al a fiery glare. "He knows how to corner you."

"Ah, he brought wine from Paris! _Oui_ , I like him as well!" Francis added.

For reasons unfathomable to him, hearing his friends say that they liked Ivan rubbed him the wrong way, even though he was aware they didn't mean it in a romantic way. He felt an unprecedented pang of possessiveness shoot through him. "Yeah, too bad he's mine. Now get up and go eat."

That night in Paris banished all of the doubt that he had carried about how he felt towards the Russian man. And Ivan made it pretty clear that he felt the same way. It was borderline miraculous, how quickly and openly Ivan showed his affection towards Yao. And how quickly Yao himself returned those feelings. So fast, so effortless, so…natural. Almost as though it was meant to happen…almost as though it had already happened before…


	12. Chapter 12

_He wasn't exactly hard to find. The only places that typically required workers to wear name-tags were restaurants, and there were only a handful of them within the perimeter of the liquor store. When Yao came to restock the vodka supply of the shop, he didn't seem to have used any mode transportation albeit walking._

_Ivan formulated a search plan. He would attempt looking for the Chinese man by entering every eatery he came across. Fortunately, he entered just one other before finding the correct place. In the first restaurant, he was greeted by an old lady who seemed to distrust foreigners. Or men who possessed Ivan's monstrous physique, at the very least. She ran up to him wearing a ferocious toothless scowl, jabbering in torrents of incomprehensible Mandarin. She was brandishing a cleaver, waving it around like a magic wand, trying to ward him off. Well, it worked anyway. Ivan didn't linger long enough to find out which part of his body the cleaver would have penetrated._

_As he stepped outside, his eyes immediately alighted upon Yao wiping a table in the restaurant across the street. He was wearing a frilly apron chocked full of panda designs, and it struck Ivan as rather odd in a surprisingly cute way. He decided not to enter right away. It would seem to odd if he just suddenly pranced in; Yao would most likely assume he had been followed…Ivan didn't consider it following since he went through the trouble of actually_ looking _for him—almost getting cleaved in the process, even. Instead he made a mental note of the restaurant's location and swore to return to it tomorrow._

_Just as he was about to leave, he spotted Yao departing the eatery, without his name-tag or the apron. His shift must have ended…The petite man appeared not to have noticed Ivan standing across the street, and simply continued walking until he reached a small structure just a few houses away from the restaurant. Ivan's hawk-like perfect vision allowed him to see enough to make out Yao withdrawing some keys from his pocket, unlocking the door to the small house, and disappearing through it._

_Ivan crossed the street and sat on one of the outdoor tables of Yao's restaurant. It was painted an almost painful shade of bright red, with golden dragons circling around the border. There were no umbrellas to shade anyone sitting outside from the sweltering heat of the sun, and the metal table itself was a good hundred degrees. Probably more._

_Whoever owned the place must have some kind of massive country complex…as Ivan looked through the glass windows into the interior of the place, he could see that the inside was also a sea of red and gold. Some strong intuition told him that he had already spoken to the owner of the restaurant—had watched that very person leave it just minutes ago. Yao_ did _seem like the type of person who possessed much pride in his country. The way he dressed said it all…he still donned traditional Chinese getup that Ivan hardly saw anyone else wearing._

_He rested his chin thoughtfully in his hand, elbow on the scorching metal of the table. So that was where Yao lived. Hmm…he didn't deliberately attempt to find out the location of the small man's house, meaning he didn't do anything illegal. The encounter was purely coincidental…But Ivan had to admit how much of a help it was to his cause. He could neither understand nor explain the reason for his desire to converse with the Chinese man again. Maybe it was because he had unknowingly been so desperate for company after months of feigning a fondness for isolation. Maybe he actually missed being in the midst of another human, but the grief for the loss of his sisters masked this desire and clouded his mind. Maybe he didn't like being alone, after all._

_Ivan failed to realize how empty and cold his life had become until he spent those brief few minutes talking to Yao, finding himself able to smile like he used to. It was similar to that feeling he got as a child in Russia, when he would sit by the windowsill, waiting until he would finally see the sun shining again after a particularly terrible blizzard. He felt as though someone slapped him awake, reminding him that he was still alive; that he still possessed a working mind and a beating heart, and that no amount of liquor would ever change the fact that his family was gone._

_Yao, no doubt unintentionally, had somehow become the warmth that thawed the ice in Ivan's heart. He was like a lifeline that Ivan managed to latch onto before he teetered over the edge of a dark abyss. Sure, they only had a brief few minutes' worth of conversation—maybe even unpleasant through the small man's perspective—but Ivan was nevertheless determined to see him again. If it meant feeling as though there was someone who could help him bury his grief, as though he was no longer alone._

" _You seem really interested in my brother," piped in a high-pitched voice form somewhere off to his side._

_Snapped out of his trance, Ivan shifted and focused his eyes on the owner of the voice. The girl looked to be in her late teens and had waist-length brown hair with a single strange strand sticking out in the front, curling oddly at the end. Her resemblance to Yao was uncanny; anyone would easily be able to tell she was his sister. She wore an elegant—but shockingly pink—China dress that fell to her feet and had cuffs and hems adorned with ruffles._

" _I noticed you were staring at him while he was cleaning. And you didn't stop until he got home," she added._

" _Well, yes. I do have some…business…I would like to speak to him about," he replied._

_And he'll have to figure out what that business is quickly before she asks…_

" _Oh, please. Nobody stares at a person like that if they were only aiming for a shallow conversation. And besides, if it was only_ business, _you could have come in here and asked for him."_

_Ivan could not believe he was hearing this from someone who was probably more than five years his minor._

_He aimed to speak in a nonchalant tone, hoping he didn't sound too eager. "Alright, then. Your brother happens to have caught my interest."_

_Realization dawned on her features. "You must be the Russian man he was ranting about earlier…the one from the liquor store? He said you were an 'arrogant bastard' who had 'nothing better to do with his life'." she stated, air-quoting Yao's apparent words._

_He chuckled. Yao thought_ that _badly of him? Ivan apparently left enough of an impression to have him ranting about it…The words in no way affected his desire to see the small man again. In fact, they only reinforced his determination to sway Yao into thinking otherwise about him._

" _But…" she continued. "He also said you were rather good-looking and that you had beautiful eyes. I can see what he meant." The girl smiled._

" _Mei! Who are you talking to?" called a voice from the restaurant door._

_She replied something in Mandarin over her shoulder._

_The boy who then made his way outside looked like a younger Yao with shorter hair and darker eyes. "Him?" he asked his sister, gesturing to Ivan._

_Mei giggled then faced Ivan again. "My name is Mei. This is Leon. We're Yao Wang's siblings." Then she turned to her brother. "_ Ge-ge _, this is the man teacher kept ranting about,"_

_Leon crossed his arms, sizing him up. "You're interested in our brother?"_

_Ivan couldn't have imagined a more bizarre conversation than the one that was unfolding before him. There he was, conversing with the younger siblings of the man he wanted to see, rather than the man himself. But he found no reason to lie about his stand anymore, since the little sister had him pretty much all figured out. "Yes, I am." he replied unflinchingly._

" _Go see him," Mei encouraged._

" _Yeah," Leon agreed. "Buddha only knows he like,_ totally _needs a distraction."_

" _He's a perfectionist_ and _a workaholic," Mei explained, seeing Ivan's quizzical expression._

" _And he like, nags us about_ our _work ethics just because they're not up to par with his. He gets totally annoying." Leon elaborated. "Go divert his attention and get it away from us." Then Leon went back inside the restaurant without another word._

_Mei watched her brother's retreating back. "Don't mind him. He's like that to everyone. We all grew up in the U.S., but the culture influenced him a lot more than it did me and teacher for some reason."_

_Huh. So that was why they all spoke English so well._

" _May I ask why you refer to him as teacher?" Ivan inquired curiously._

" _He taught us martial arts. One day I called him teacher for fun and the title just stuck." She said happily. "Anyway, whenever you decide to go to him, tell him you came looking for him here and I told you where he lives. He'll believe you right away. Trust me."_

" _Thank you," Ivan replied, stunned by the ease of which he gained Yao's siblings' blessings. And he didn't even ask for them yet._

" _I have to get back to work. I'll be in trouble if teacher catches me," then she waved goodbye and went back inside the restaurant._

_Ivan made up his mind to go see Yao first thing the following morning, simply to make himself appear less eager. Only he was aware of how long the hours of the night were going to stretch. But it didn't matter. He would see Yao once again. He had even gotten approval from the man's siblings._

_It was difficult to imagine how just the previous night, he was nothing but a drunk, incoherent man wishing for no more tomorrows. Now he wanted nothing more than for tomorrow to come as quickly as possible. His heart felt so much lighter than he ever expected it to be able to feel again. Fate appeared to be on his side this time…hopefully time was as well._


	13. Chapter 13

Ivan's lips curled upwards playfully. "We are on our way to my house,"

Yao nearly coughed up the mouthful of water he had just finished drinking. "Y-your," he sputtered. "Your _house_?!"

"Yes," Ivan replied. "You lost our bet, remember?"

"Yeah, but I was _drunk_! That's not fair!"

"Ah, but you kept on insisting you were sober. I have it on video if you would like to see."

"Shut the hell up, you cheating bastard." Yao grumbled, crossing his arms and sensing defeat.

Ivan laughed amusedly. "How is that cheating? Little Yao threatened to castrate me with his cleaver if I did not videotape—"

"It's not about the video!" Yao shot him a dirty look. "Alfred and Francis were manipulating me into making that stupid bet, yet you still played along. Come on! You know I can't give you a piggyback ride from my kitchen to the front door, let alone around the whole apartment complex! You're supposed to be on my side!"

"I _am_ on your side," Ivan chuckled. "But I do not back down on bets. Besides, the consequence of your loss was much too tempting." His eyes glinted mischievously.

"How the hell was I supposed to know you could actually down twelve bottles of vodka without blinking an eye?!"

"…I am Russian…"

Now that he wasn't drunk, Yao realized how pathetically effortless that dare must have been for Ivan. Maybe it was a mistake to let his own friends befriend the man. Ever since they met, which was weeks ago, they'd been getting along better and better. Ivan went to his apartment more and more frequently, and they all hung out together. Now they also seemed to have shared an unspoken agreement to work as a team against him.

One night, Ivan arrived at his apartment with a whole crate of vodka from the company he owned in Russia. According to Alfred, he, Francis, and Arthur _just so happened_ to be in the area as well, so they came over too. Everyone got drunk—everyone except the one who bore responsibility for the whole thing, of course—and Alfred and Francis coerced Yao into daring Ivan to drink the rest of the alcohol in the crate. Then they dared Yao to give Ivan a piggyback ride around the complex. If Ivan lost, Yao told him he would have to dress and act as a woman for a week. But if Yao lost, Ivan said he would have to go to his house and cater to his every whim for an entire afternoon.

Ivan drank the last twelve large bottles of vodka with as much ease as though they were made of water. Yao made it three steps with Ivan on his back before he passed out.

And so he lost the bet.

If there was one thing in the world he abhorred more than losing, it was being ordered about. And now he would have to tolerate being bossed around by _Ivan_ , of all people.

"Whatever," he said sourly, rolling his eyes. "But keep your… _requests_ …reasonable. I have every right to stick chopsticks up your nostrils if you ask for something stupid."

"No need to worry. I will not demand anything… _too_ unreasonable." Ivan replied vaguely.

Yao let out a sound of skepticism then turned to face the limousine window. Ivan's house, huh? A good chunk of him was flat-out opposed to going, mainly because of the intensifying annoyance associated with having to be told what to do. But a teeny-tiny, miniscule part of him wanted to see and experience whatever events were waiting to unfold. There were endless possibilities as to what could happen, and just the thought of _some_ of those possibilities hampered Yao's ability to think straight.

"We are here," Ivan said suddenly, jolting Yao back into the present.

His jaw dropped. He knew Ivan was rich and all because of his business in Russia, but he never expected the man to live in a goddamn _mansion_. Especially since Ivan kept referring to it as his _house_. Yao's apartment was an anthill in comparison to this place…The outer walls were painted a pale beige, almost white color that radiated an aura of elegance. The front lawn was bedecked with row upon row of bright golden sunflowers.

The limousine chauffeur, Toris, a man with shoulder-length, light chestnut hair, led Yao and Ivan to the front door and opened it for them.

The outside was only a sneak-peek. It could have in no way prepared Yao for what awaited _inside_ the mansion. Just after stepping through the threshold, his gaze was immediately captured by a majestic crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling, with its lights shimmering and twinkling brilliantly. He estimated that decades' worth of income he earned managing his restaurant wouldn't even make a dent in the cost of the chandelier alone. Yao started to imagine how much Ivan must have spent on the entire mansion, but stopped when his temples began to throb painfully.

"Welcome to my home, little Yao." Said Ivan.

"Do you—" His voice came out as a barely audible, hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat and started again. "Do you live here alone?"

Ivan shook his head. "My servants also live here,"

Dearest Buddha he even had _servants_. Who had _servants_ these days?

As if on cue, a small boy with shaggy light blonde hair materialized out of a hallway in the far corner of the entrance hall. He gave Yao a polite—though rather shaky—bow. "M-my name is Raivis Galante. If y-you are in need of anything, p-please do not hesitate to ask. May I take your jacket, Mr. Wang?"

"Yes, thanks." Yao awkwardly handed him the old zip-up panda hoodie he was wearing and watched as the boy hung it up on a coat rack beside the front door. He couldn't help but notice how out of place it looked amidst all the finery.

Then Raivis took Ivan's trench coat and placed it next to his hoodie. Yao realized it was the first time he had seen Ivan in casual clothes without the coat. He wore a simple white shirt that barely concealed his finely-toned body—his sturdy figure and bulging muscles. Yao felt his throat going even drier.

Ivan took his hand and escorted him to what was apparently supposed to be the living room. Except for the fact that it looked like it belonged to a royal family. The couches were made of exquisitely smooth velvet. An old-fashioned, beautiful fireplace was located at the front of the room. There was even a minibar in the corner. Another person—a man a bit older than Raivis, with shorter hair and glasses—placed some wine on the masterfully-crafted ivory center table. He approached Yao and greeted him with another polite bow. Somehow Yao knew Ivan told them to do this. "I am Eduard von Bock. If you have any questions or requests, Mr. Wang, please feel free to call on me."

"Thank you," Yao replied, completely unaccustomed to such formal treatment.

When Eduard had left and they had settled down on one of the couches, Yao nudged Ivan. "Could you tell them to knock it off with the bowing? It really throws me off," he mumbled uneasily.

"Alright," Ivan replied, giving him a small laugh.

"How's your company doing?" he asked, determined to strike up a conversation before the silence that followed consumed the moment.

He knew the answer already, though. It was pretty obvious, given the state that Ivan's living quarters were in.

"The company is doing fine. We have begun to ship our vodka around the world. Sales are increasing," said Ivan.

"That's amazing! You've expanded your business that much already after such a short time? How long has it been again? I forgot,"

"Three years. I decided to start the company after I lost y—" he paused very briefly. "Yekaterina. And Natalia. My sisters."

"Yeah, you did mention to me about your sisters before…if you don't mind me asking, how did they…?" he faltered.

"They died…in an accident." Ivan's voice dropped a whole octave and Yao could barely hear it. "It was my fault. I couldn't protect them."

He put a hand on top of Ivan's and stroked it gently. "Just because you couldn't protect them doesn't mean it was ever your fault."

Ivan placed his other hand on top of Yao's and smiled sadly. "They had only me, little Yao. Our parents were gone. It was my duty to keep them safe. And I failed."

"No, you didn't. I know what you've been through. I had a brother too, but I still can't remember him all that well. His name was Leon. Mei told me he was killed in the same accident that took away my memories." He admitted. "I pretty much had to raise those two on my own. And even though I can't remember my brother too well, it still hurts to know that I've lost him."

A flash of some intense emotion crossed Ivan's eyes. Pain? Guilt? But it came and went so quickly, Yao wasn't sure if it was really there at all. He decided he was probably imagining it.

Ivan looked him in the eye. "I am sorry,"

"Don't be. He's in a much better place now. He doesn't have to deal with all of this world's shit anymore," he smiled, attempting to lighten the suddenly-heavy atmosphere.

But Ivan's face only turned more solemn. "Yes. None of them have to suffer from the cruelty of life…"

"S-so, uhh, what made you decide to settle in Los Angeles?" Yao said, trying to divert the topic.

"It is a place without snow. I do not like snow. It is too cold and too lonely,"

"Eh? But isn't Russia…covered in snow most of the time?"

"That is why I left," answered Ivan.

Yao sensed that Ivan must have been remembering something unpleasant from his past, and he didn't know what to reply to his words. He had never seen Ivan act so vulnerable before, and it baffled him. Somehow their conversation ended up in depressing waters, and he needed to come up with a way to salvage it…But just as he was about to formulate a cheer-up plan, Ivan himself suddenly brightened again, as though woken from a stupor.

"I apologize, little Yao. Our topics became gloomy all of a sudden," he said. "Anyway, we are here in order for you to uphold your end of the bet."

Damn. He almost forgot about that.

"Ugh. Okay, what do you want me to do?" Yao replied distastefully.

"Simple. Spend today by my side. All day. You cannot leave. I will not let you."

Yao expected something predictable like "cook for me" or even "kiss me", but he didn't anticipate that one coming. As usual, Ivan said just the right words; the ones that would most make Yao's heart flutter. Corny though they may be, he knew Ivan was sincere about them. He wanted Yao by his side. And frankly, Yao couldn't think of anywhere else he would rather be either. Maybe that bet was a blessing in disguise…

"Also, cook something just for me, little Yao." Ivan added cheerfully.

…or maybe not.

...

"You are a very good chef!" Ivan praised, munching on the chow mein and orange chicken that Yao whipped up for him.

"I wouldn't own a restaurant if I wasn't," he replied nonchalantly. Yao pretended to be indifferent to Ivan's reaction to his cooking, but he secretly quite enjoyed the sight of the man eating his food with such relish.

"Why are you not eating?"

Yao wrinkled his nose. "I'm sick of eating my own cooking…it gets tiring after a while,"

"Would you like to eat something else?" asked Ivan.

"No, I'm good. I ate before coming here. Just eat. Don't worry about me."

Ivan continued savoring the food, while Yao took small sips of the delicious wine that Eduard brought out for them. It was aged well—a perfect blend of tartness and sweetness. Even Francis would have approved of it, and that Frenchman was _meticulous_ about judging wine.

"Hey, what's this wine called? Just out of curiosity. Francis might be interested in it," Yao queried.

"Oh, he is the one who recommended it to me. It is called _Petrus_. From Pomerol, France."

"Huh. He recommended it? I wonder why…"

Ivan smirked. "Because it sells for more than two thousand dollars a bottle, and he says it is very delicious. I agree."

Lord almighty.

"T-two _thousand_?! For _one bottle_?!"

" _Da._ " Ivan nodded.

Yao placed his wine on the table delicately, almost with reverence, suddenly feeling as though it shouldn't be consumed. He simply contented himself with watching Ivan eat.

The sun had already set when Ivan finished; he polished off his plate completely. The man stretched out on the velvet couch looking satiated. "That was the best meal I have had in years."

"Lies," Yao answered, suppressing a smile.

"It is true. Little Yao made it just for me. Nothing else can compare."

Yao blushed. There he goes again with the words…

Determined to hide his face, he took Ivan's plate and silverware. "I'll go wash these in the kitchen." Yao sensed Ivan's eyes trained on him as he walked away.

Out of nowhere, the Russian man's arms snaked their way around his waist from behind, ensnaring him in a tight embrace. Yao's fingers slipped and he dropped the plate and utensils. The sound was muffled by the carpeted flooring and thankfully it didn't shatter.

Breath quickening, he stood still as a statue. His mind began to cloud. Was the wine too strong?

Ivan brushed soft lips over his neck, making all the hair stand on end. "I am sure you know the real reason why I wanted you here, little Yao. I cannot wait any longer," he whispered into Yao's ear.

He closed his eyes, his body feeling close to melting in the Russian man's touch. Of course he knew where things were leading, and he should stop it…but his mind was drawing a blank. All he found himself awaiting were the words.

Ivan's voice was low and husky with want when next he spoke. "I want to make love to you."

Yao had braced himself for the dread, had anticipated the fear to come any second. But to his utter surprise, what came instead was a severe, overpowering desire for Ivan. He wanted to feel the Russian man around him, above him, inside him. Wanted to feel his presence saturate his entire being. Yao realized he wanted nothing more than to submit himself to temptation—to Ivan. The man he so quickly learned to love. The man who loved him enough to ask for approval before doing anything else, the man who waited so patiently for this moment.

He turned to meet Ivan's gaze, and at last he knew he was ready. There was no fear, no dread, just an overwhelmingly intense need for the Russian man standing before him. Ivan's eyes reflected the same hunger that he himself failed to articulate.

Unable to suppress his desires any longer, Yao ran his fingers through the man's silky blonde hair and he yanked their lips together.

A muffled sound of surprise escaped Ivan's throat, but he was quick to respond to the sudden action. He practically glued their bodies together as their mouths worked like clockwork, tongues racing out to meet. Ivan's hands roved his body freely. He brought his lips down onto Yao's neck, placing small, lasting kisses on every inch of exposed skin.

Yao's body was on fire. He wanted so much from this man. So, so much. The desire building up within him reached a degree that was almost frightening. It coiled inside him like a spring, waiting to be released. Ivan scooped him up without breaking the kiss and began to make his way up a flight of stairs. Once inside his room, he and Yao fell onto the massive bed, still hopelessly entangled.

The blaze was spreading swiftly like an uncontrollable wildfire. It impacted every cell in his body, sending shockwaves of heat to the top of his head all the way down to the very tips of his toes. Yao gasped as Ivan's body weight shifted to the area that burned for it most of all.

Hastily, Ivan removed Yao's shirt then proceeded to unbutton his jeans. But then he stopped and the violet eyes met his golden ones, asking for approval.

Yao groaned, body desperate for the Russian man's touch, and incomprehensible sounds flew out of his lips. Ivan seemed to have gotten the message though, for he stripped Yao of the last of his clothing without any further inquiries.

Ivan took a moment to gaze appreciatively at the sight before him. His hypnotic amethyst eyes roamed around Yao's body, drinking in every feature. He bent down and connected their lips once more. "You are my beautiful little Yao." He said lovingly.

It was surprising how not a single sliver of doubt managed to worm its way into his system. All Yao was aware of was the sincerity behind Ivan's words and the urgent hunger they both felt for each other.

Ivan removed his own clothes, and for a brief moment all desire and tension dissipated as Yao's eyes fell upon the monster lurking between the Russian man's legs. "I-Ivan," he started shakily. "How the _hell_ is that supposed to fit inside me?"

The Russian man looked at him in surprise then began to chuckle. He swooped in for a small kiss and brought their lower bodies together intimately, earning another gasp from Yao. "We will simply have to make it fit,"

Yao let out a sound of protest that was immediately transformed into a moan of pleasure, as Ivan's large hand enclosed around him. A million watts of electricity jolted down his spine. He retaliated by glaring at Ivan and mimicking his actions. The Russian man groaned in surprise.

"Little Yao does not like to lose," he smiled mischievously, giving Yao a little squeeze.

Yao's body jerked violently but he kept the glare nevertheless. "You bet I don't."

Seized by a sudden urge to do something rash and unexpected, he pushed Ivan down until his back was pinned to the bed and Yao was on top of him. Shooting him a seductive look, Yao's lips then wrapped lusciously around the Russian man. A sound of pleasure escaped Ivan's throat and his body reacted automatically, bucking into Yao's mouth. Strong hands found his long black hair and they forced his head even lower.

Yao relished being in control for once. He could hear Ivan breathing heavily, felt the grip on his hair getting tighter. He couldn't help but enjoy the knowledge that Ivan was like this because of him. This was his doing, and the Russian man's response only spiked up Yao's desire to please him even more. He ran his tongue around Ivan and the hold on his hair became exhilaratingly painful. But before things could advance any further, the Russian man stopped him and utilized the same maneuver Yao used to get him on the bed. Now Yao was back under the towering figure. "I should be careful around you, little Yao. You have an evil side," he said, panting.

Oh good, he noticed. Ivan wasn't the only one who could rock cruelty like a scarf. Yao smiled smugly in response.

"But you have not seen mine yet, have you?" his eyes glinted wickedly.

Uh-oh.

Ivan snatched a bottle of lotion from the bedside table, and before Yao had a chance to register what he was about to do, one of his thighs had been placed over the man's shoulder. He inserted a single finger inside Yao. Within seconds, there came another. By this time, the Russian had elicited countless little moans from him that he failed to hush up.

Then something much bigger than fingers was brought tantalizingly close to his entrance. "Would you like for me to go inside you?"

Yao moaned insensibly as the electricity within him took control of his bodily functions. He was attempting to give an affirmative reply, but his vexation only increased when Ivan brushed over him in a teasing manner. Yao opened his eyes and shot him the fiercest glower he could muster.

Seconds later, Ivan was pushing himself inside and Yao had his hand over his mouth to keep from crying aloud at the girth of him. He choked out strangled words into his hand.

The feeling of finally having Ivan inside him was indescribable. The anticipated pain never came. Instead, wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over him and refused to abate.

Ivan removed the hand that Yao had clasped over his mouth, took hold of the other one, and pinned them both above his head. "I want to hear you," he said.

Ivan made small movement, and with the incapacitated state of his hands, Yao could only react using the rest of his body. His hips instinctively thrust upwards, and his feet dug into the bed sheets. But the sensation was so delicious that he failed to restrain himself from begging for it again. He pleaded breathlessly, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists tightly.

Ivan had lost all trace of his earlier lightness. "Say my name, Yao."

The urgency and the want present in Ivan's voice set every nerve in his body on fire, intensifying his desire tenfold. He breathed out little moans, trying to regain his ability to speak. 

"Say it,"

The Russian's fingers clasped around him again and, body desperate for movement, Yao's mouth spoke involuntarily. "I-Ivan…please…"

It was as though he activated an on-switch. Ivan suddenly began to thrust into him powerfully, causing his body to arch in ways it had never arched before. He wrapped his thighs around the Russian man's hips, feeling the unquenchable need to bring their bodies even closer. He found himself unable to say anything _but_ Ivan's name. Every time he cried out, Ivan pummeled him with even greater force, keeping him locked to the bed.

He was drowning in an unimaginable ocean of pleasure and desire. He couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't feel anything except for the man rocking against his body, dominating him so completely and utterly. He was only vaguely aware of the headboard banging loudly on the wall. He heard the creaks issuing from the bed as though they were a million miles off. His own cries sounded light years away.

Yao felt as though his ability to reason had been ripped apart from the rest of his being. Because if he was still capable of reasoning, he would be reminding himself that what they were doing was wrong. It was too soon. Much too soon. Things were going too fast. But there was no guilt. In fact, he felt the complete opposite. Everything was perfect and right and wonderfully blissful. He was where he belonged. His mind was submerged in thoughts of Ivan; how wonderful it felt to see him lose his usual composure, to see him lose himself in the passion. Yao's physical existence registered every caress, every kiss, every breath.

Ivan let go of Yao's hands and began thrusting into him with even more urgency. Yao was beginning to unravel. He felt the overlapping sensations reaching an unbearable height, and the spring within him uncoiled powerfully. He released with a loud cry, nails raking his lover's back, hands tangling themselves within the platinum locks.

The Russian man's body convulsed as he climaxed, and Yao felt the heat perforate his entire being.

Ivan collapsed atop him, and they both remained still, breathless, hearts beating madly, trying to regain their senses. Slowly, they spiraled back into the present.

The large man raised his head and gently brushed the hair out of Yao's eyes. "Hello, my little Yao. Are you alright?"

Yao gave him a strained smile. "Yes, but Ivan…"

His eyebrows furrowed in concern. "What is it?"

"You're kind of heavy,"

Ivan laughed, relieved. "I apologize," he said, moving off to lie beside him instead. He threw the covers over the both of them and cocooned Yao in a protective embrace, burying his face in his long black hair. "Thank you,"

"For what?" Yao asked sleepily. The night's actions were already taking their toll on him. He was drained of every ounce of energy. He could barely keep his eyes open, and Ivan's body was so close and so warm and so comfortable…

"For being here with me." Ivan whispered. "And little Yao?"

Sweet tendrils of sleep reached out to him and beckoned, beginning to pull him under. "Hmm?"

"Я тебя люблю."

Yao's mind was clouded with exhaustion. He didn't notice that he was able to understand Ivan, despite the fact that he just spoke in a language that should have been completely foreign to him. A familiar voice from somewhere far away in his mind repeated the words. He had heard them already…someone had said those exact same ones to him before…

But he was too tired to think. Yao only had time to reply to the words before his eyes closed and he submitted himself to sleep's impatient arms.

"I love you too."


	14. Chapter 14

Morning dawned a hazy gray, dark clouds looming ominously above the city. Yao opened his heavy eyes and suffered an initial jolt of panic as he surveyed his unfamiliar surroundings. But then he felt the protective arm wrapped around him and sank back on the bed, blissfully contented. There was only one person in the world capable of giving him a sense of such safety. Memories of the previous night came trickling steadily back and Yao melted into the warm body cocooning his own, feeling Ivan's faint breaths tickling the back of his neck.

He shifted so that he faced the sleeping man. Ivan seemed so peaceful in his slumber…all the muscles on his face were lax, and there were no traces of any negative emotion in his features. He looked—if possible—even more endearing than usual. Yao made to brush some stray strands of hair off of his face, but that single slight movement caused Ivan to stir. In no time, his wonderful violet eyes were boring deeply into his own.

"If only all of my mornings started this way," he said smiling, voice husky with sleep.

Yao returned the smile readily, nothing restraining him from doing so any longer. "Good morning to you too."

Ivan pulled him closer. "Can everyday be like from now on, my little Yao?"

Yao thought Ivan wasn't capable of making his heart feel any fuller than it already was, but somehow the man always came up with sayings to prove him oh-so-very wrong. He caressed Ivan's face gently. "I wouldn't mind."

"Then let us just stay this way forever," he replied, giving him a light kiss.

"Now wait just a second," Yao joked. "We are both in dire need of showers before we go through with this forever-in-bed thing."

Ivan raised an eyebrow and smiled in a mockingly seductive fashion. "Would you like for us to do so together?"

Yao slapped him away, blushing, looking slightly scandalized. " _Aiyah_! What the heck, Ivan!"

"But little Yao, I have seen everything there is to s—"

"Shut up, you shameless person!" Yao put a pillow over Ivan's mouth, effectively muffling whatever it was that came out next. "Go before me! Go! Now!"

The Russian man removed the pillow, chuckling. "Alright. I will go. Stay here until I get back,"

Yao waved him away. "Yeah, yeah. Not like I have a choice. I can't even move my hips." And seeing the smug expression painting Ivan's face, he hastened to add, "Ahaha, I was kidding. Watch your ego. Your head might surpass the size of your nose."

Ivan laughed and shook his head amusedly, stretching and rising. Without a stitch of clothing on his body. "I will be back then."

Yao looked away, cheeks burning, feeling conservativeness and modesty worming their way into his system. "Put some clothes on!"

"For what?" Ivan asked playfully. "I will only take them off again once I am inside the bathroom,"

"Then hurry to the damn bathroom already!"

The mattress creaked as Ivan bent over Yao's ear and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "You are much cuter when you do not scowl, little Yao."

This of course, brought on another scowl.

Ivan laughed again and went away. Yao heard the bathroom door close. After a while, the water started running.

Yao sighed and stood to dress, all the while familiarizing himself with Ivan's room. Last night's… _events_ …had deprived him from observing it properly. It was a room befitting a king, with space exceeding that of his entire apartment. There were large curtained windows that stretched from the floor all the way up to the ceiling. The silky mattress that he had laid upon was plush and heavenly to the touch. Sparsely decorated, the few discernible items in the room included—oddly enough—a menacing metal pipe perched precariously on the bedside dresser, alongside a photo frame that housed a picture of two young women laughing carelessly at the camera.

Ivan's sisters. How could they not be? One of them, presumably his older sister, shared an uncanny resemblance to the Russian man. She had the same short, platinum hair, and the same bright smile. She also had—and Yao, despite his gender orientation, found it rather difficult to tear his eyes away—a very, very, _very_ sizeable chest. The other girl was undeniably beautiful, and also shared the same platinum locks as her siblings, though much longer. Her eyes possessed that slightly-intimidating fire that Ivan's always shone with.

Yao picked up the picture and brought it closer so as to get a closer look. As he examined it, his fingers ran across something unnatural sticking out from behind the frame. Being the neat-freak that he was, Yao decided to dismantle the frame and put whatever it was properly inside.

A small piece of paper fluttered out, closely accompanied by something that made absolutely zero sense whatsoever.

It was a photograph. Of him. And not just any photograph; an old one. One that was taken before the accident.

How could he tell? Mei always said that all of their old pictures had been left behind when they moved to Los Angeles. She only brought one with her. A single photo of her, Yao, and Leon standing in front of their restaurant back in China. That same restaurant that was in the background of the picture he now held in his hands.

How could Ivan have gotten such a thing?

Nonplussed and utterly bewildered, Yao was just about ready to barge inside the bathroom and demand an explanation from the Russian man. But his gaze then fell upon the small piece of paper that came out with the picture. There was writing on it, and the neat curly letters looked immensely familiar to him in a way that, for some reason, sent dread pulsing throughout his entire body.

_Ivan,_

_I will give you this because I know that you sincerely loved my brother. But too much has happened because of his involvement with you. I'm not risking anything anymore. We're moving. I'm sorry, but please don't look for us._

Yao felt his blood slowly turn to ice as the realization dawned on him.

The handwriting belonged to Mei.

What the hell?! What was this?! It didn't make any sense! How did Mei know Ivan? And why did she give him an old picture of Yao?

Hands quaking, Yao reread the message on the slip of paper and felt his mind suffocating as hundreds upon hundreds of questions demanded to be answered.

_I will give you this because I know you sincerely loved my brother_

Did that mean he had already been with Ivan in the past? No, that couldn't be. Nothing was familiar about Ivan when they first met. Not even the slightest hint of a memory surfaced regarding the man…unless…the dance under the Eiffel Tower—something happened then. But the memory was so brief and undecipherable, it was impossible to identify the person concerning it…There was also that odd moment last night, just before he fell asleep, when a voice inside his head had spoken. He couldn't remember what it said or sounded like though; it could have been anyone…Knowing Ivan's straightforward tendencies, he would have told Yao immediately if they had ever been acquainted before…right? Why wouldn't he?

_Too much has happened because of his involvement with you. I'm not risking anything anymore_

What wasn't Mei risking? What happened? Something had happened before he lost his memories…something he absolutely needed to remember…Yao racked his brains but came up with nothing save a foggy image of what he saw just seconds after his car broke the barrier separating the road from the hillside drop. Right before he lost consciousness. That same vague image of a bloodied Mei on the back seat struggling with her inflated airbag, trying to reach out to him. The only one Yao ever managed to come up with whenever he strained himself to remember things.

Out of nowhere a part of the conversation he had with Ivan the previous day played through his head, and a sudden thought came to him. If that image was not merely a delusion, he and Mei were the only two people in the car. Where was the other person who was _supposed to have died_ in that same accident? Leon simply did not appear in that memory, no matter how many more times Yao attempted to recall it.

If that single vital recollection of his was accurate, could there be some kind of connection between the _real_ reason for his brother's death, and the words Mei had written on that slip of paper? Otherwise, why would his sister avoid telling Yao that he had already been in a relationship before? Mei, who told him he had never been in one in the past. The girl who was always eager to make sure he was aware of what his life had been like before the accident. And to add to that, why would Ivan _himself_ hide the fact that he had known Yao all this time? Surely he didn't lose his memories the same way he did, as amnesia wasn't all that common.

Yao's head was throbbing painfully. _What the fuck was going on?_

From somewhere far away he heard a water faucet squeak shut. Yao hastily stuffed Mei's note and the photo in his pocket and replaced the picture frame on the bedside dresser the way he found it, just as Ivan stepped out of the bathroom. He rearranged his facial features and smiled at the Russian man, acting as though nothing unusual had happened.

As though he didn't just learn of something he was probably better off not knowing about.


	15. Chapter 15

Yao never deemed it possible to actually _feel_ the weight of his thoughts, but his mind was practically housing a blue whale with everything that was going through it. His chest was being gnawed upon by the incessant uneasiness and persistent dread that had been haunting him ever since his stupid, nit-picky self decided to take apart that picture frame. Now he knew why people claim that ignorance is bliss.

Two days ago, when he first came across the photo and the note, the whole incident seemed so… _surreal_ …as though it was something that should only have happened in one of those dramas he consistently watched. It didn't hit him squarely and all-at-once like he expected it to; rather, he felt as though it was happening to a completely different person. The day after that, Yao somehow managed to convince himself of the fact that the whole thing was a prank, fabricated by his friends and Ivan. He passed off twenty-four hours running away and pretending that the truth was a lie. But when he woke the following morning, the full reality of what had happened flattened him like a rolling pin would the dough.

Yao wished he never saw. Some things _were_ better off being kept a secret. What he didn't know couldn't hurt him, after all. But it was too late. Now he was fully aware. And he had to live with that knowledge until he gathered up enough strength to confront his sister about it. Demanding answers from Ivan was out of the question at the moment. Yao was still too afraid of what he might find out when he hears Ivan's take on the story, and couldn't bear the thought of seeing his beautiful Russian lover under an entirely different light.

Besides, it was Mei who wrote the note. It was she who needed to supply him with answers first.

As if on cue, she was suddenly standing at the doorway. "Teacher, I'm pretty sure that plate's clean already," Mei said, eyeing him curiously.

He snapped abruptly back to his senses. Yao had been so absorbed in his notions; he failed to notice that he had been repeatedly soaping and rinsing the same plate for over ten minutes.

"You're right. Sorry," he replied, hastily grabbing hold of another filthy dish to wash.

Mei's eyebrows arched high up on her forehead. "Those are the two phrases I never thought I would ever hear you say together," she stated. "Is there something wrong? You've been out of it for a while now."

Mei approached him and began to wash some of the other dishes herself.

Yao paused for a moment. "Actually, yes. Something's been bothering me," he said, feigning interest in the soapy sponge in his hand.

"What is it?"

"You know how you always tell me I've never been romantically involved with anyone before the accident?"

She played it off well, not a flicker of emotion crossing her features. "Yes, why?"

"Are you sure?"

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw her grip on the dish tighten. She turned to face him, looking crossed. "Of course I'm sure, teacher. Don't you think I would know if you've ever been in a relationship?"

Yao stopped his movements and sighed deeply. Of all the people in the world… _Mei_ had to lie. The one person he thought would never be able to do so in front of him with a straight face.

"That's why I'm asking." His voice remained steady, but dangerously low. "Because I know that you know about Ivan Braginski."

The name was what broke the barrier. The deafening sound of a shattering plate echoed through the empty restaurant kitchen, as the dish she had in her hands dropped to the floor and broke into a million irreparable shards. "H-how did you—"

In response, he dried his hands and fished the picture and the note out of his pocket, holding it out for her to see. Mei stared incredulously at the objects, and then looked up at Yao with wide eyes. "Where did you get those?"

"I found them in his room two days ago."

"I-in his room?" Tears were beginning to pool in her eyes. "He's here? He found you?"

Under different circumstances, Yao would never have let his precious little sister cry. But this time, not even the slightest bit of sympathy wormed its way into his system. Why did he have to find out now, when he had already fallen too deep? He knew it wasn't entirely Mei's fault because she wasn't aware of the Russian man's reappearance in Yao's life until this very moment, but she should have just told him in the first place. Knowing Ivan had caused some sort of incident would have saved both him _and_ Mei a great deal of anger and pain.

Instead of consoling her, Yao felt his temper flare even more. "I don't know what happened that caused you to keep your mouth sealed all these years, but both of you have played me for a fool. Both of you knew. Neither of you said anything about it."

"I didn't know he would meet you again!" she cried, shaking her head. "After what happened, I didn't think he would ever have the nerve to—"

"What happened?" Yao asked sharply, cutting her off. "What was it that happened, that caused all of this?"

"You're better off not knowing! Don't you get it, teacher? You always tell me that everything happens for a reason! You lost your memories because you were meant to forget!"

"But it didn't work, did it? You know just as well as I do that no matter how hard you try to hide something, it'll eventually resurface again anyway. Mei, I need to find out what happened. _Tell me what happened_ ," he demanded menacingly.

She covered her face with her shaking hands and sobbed. "Don't make me tell you, _ge ge_. Please don't…"

Was it really that bad, what Ivan did? Yao wanted to shut everything off. His mind, his heart, his very existence. Dread was closing in on him. There was no escape from the suffocating feeling.

He grabbed her hands and tore them away from her face, his frustration finally boiling over. "I NEED TO KNOW! I NEED TO KNOW, BECAUSE I…because I…love him again. I loved him without knowing I had ever loved him before. Without ever being aware of the fact that he had done something terrible…I don't really want to find out what happened, but I just _need to know_ , Mei! Because as far as I can tell, I wasn't the only one affected by his actions!"

She leaned on the sink, hands pushing her hair back. Her eyes were wide and fearful. It looked as though she was reliving a nightmare.

Yao put an arm around his sister, stroked her hair, and coaxed her back to the present. "Please,"

She pushed his arm away and shot him a glare worthy of a thousand suns. "Fine, you really want to know?" she asked, seething.

Suddenly he didn't. Suddenly all he wanted to do was stop her from saying anything. But his body betrayed him. His mouth refused to speak. He was frozen; completely rooted to the floor.

Her voice was quaking with anger. "Because of that man, I was kidnapped…"

Yao stared at her, numb with disbelief, hoping he had heard wrong.

"…because of that man, you got into an accident that took away all of your memories..."

How on earth could it have been Ivan's fault? What the hell did he do?

"…and because of that man, _our brother is dead_."

...

It was like carrying twice the weight of the sky on his shoulders. It was anger and devastation and disbelief all compressed into a single living being. But more than anything, it was pain. Excruciating pain such as Yao had never felt before. Every step was a sharp stab to his body. Every intake of breath was like swallowing a mouthful of fire. His heart and his mind were working simply as bodily machines, automatically performing their actions.

Yao could hardly feel anything anymore.

Sitting there in that familiar white limousine that he would never be able to see the same way again, Yao remained silent and stared blankly out the window. He couldn't bear to even _look_ at the Russian man, much less _talk_ to him. But he knew he would have to eventually. He would never be able to keep delaying the truth. No matter how much he desired not to know the rest of it.

When they arrived at Ivan's house, Yao made his way to the bedroom alone, preparing himself for the inevitable confrontation. He stood in front of the window and waited. Waited for everything to end. Waited for the destruction of everything he had ever believed to be true about this man.

From behind him, he heard a door open and close. With almost inaudible footsteps, Ivan made his way towards Yao and wrapped his arms securely around his waist.

 _One last time_ , Yao thought. _Let me feel this way one last time_.

"Is something wrong, little Yao? Are you not feeling well? You have not been very lively today."

Yao broke free of Ivan's embrace, feeling as though he had just let go of the only person who would ever be able to make him feel safe.

Barely managing a measured voice, Yao turned to face the window again. "You knew. All this time, you knew. You had countless chances, and yet you still found it unnecessary to tell me."

Ivan's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Tell you what?"

Yao swiveled around, eyes prickling with tears he could no longer restrain. "The truth," he said, clenching his fists. "I found Mei's note and the old photo of me in your picture frame. She told me everything."

Ivan's face darkened. A sharp pang hit Yao when he realized that instead of looking surprised, Ivan appeared almost as though he had been expecting it. "I see."

"Why didn't you tell me?! Why did you wait for me to find out this way?!" Yao asked, voice rising. "Say something!"

"I wanted to tell you. But I was afraid you would leave me again," he said emptily.

"So that makes it okay to pretend nothing happened?" Yao said softly. "That makes it okay to hide the fact that you caused my accident? _That you were the reason why my brother died?"_

Ivan's heartbreakingly downcast eyes remained fixed on the floor. "I am sorry."

"Don't apologize!" Yao screamed, tears streaming down his face. "Don't apologize because that means you're admitting to everything!"

A dejected smile played on his features. "But it _was_ my fault. If I did not get involved with you, nothing bad would have happened to you and your family."

The hollowness in Ivan's voice was even worse than the words. The sight slowly tore Yao apart piece by piece. It was unbearable to watch the usually-smiling, usually-vibrant Russian man lose his shine. This man, who always loved to win; who always tried to beat Yao at everything, was now standing before him, defeated.

"No!" Yao yelled, sounding slightly hysterical. "Defend yourself, you bastard! Lie! Don't make it true!"

"I cannot deny it." Ivan met his gaze for a moment. His eyes no longer twinkled. "I was part of the Russian mafia before I met you. But during an operation against our Chinese counterpart, I failed to kill a little girl—the daughter of the leader. Our leader found out and punished me by killing my sisters. So you see, I am also to blame for my sisters' deaths."

Yao was squatting on the floor, hands clamped firmly over his ears. No more…he didn't want to hear any of it anymore…

"I ended up leaving the mafia and murdering our leader and his men that very same day. I remained in China, sure that I had no reason left to live. That was when I met you. You brought me up from the ashes, little Yao. You were the reason I willed myself to keep living." said Ivan softly, a faraway look in his eyes.

"But not long after I promised to never let any harm come to you, the old mafia leader's son hunted me down for revenge. They wanted to use you against me. But I was protecting you too well. So they kidnapped your sister and attempted to bait you. Your brother found the bait and arrived there first. He was…"

"What? He was what?" Yao asked, eyes closed. Dreading the answer.

"He was shot and killed…" Ivan replied, voice trailing off. But the expression on his face—the guilt, the shame—said that there was something more to it. And strangely enough, Yao knew what it was. The Russian man was more involved than he could have ever imagined.

Praying to the heavens that his intuition would be proven wrong for once, wishing against all odds that Ivan could still be forgiven, Yao desperately clung on to the last strand of hope that he could find.

Feeling like a dead person had taken over his living body, Yao asked, "Who killed my brother?"

Why did he ask? He didn't want to know…don't answer… _don't answer_ …Yao wanted time to stop. Wanted it to reverse, if possible. To a moment when his life was the way it should have been.

But the expression on Ivan's face was confirmation of the worst possible kind.

He gazed sadly at Yao.

"I did."


	16. Chapter 16

The fruits of the lies, the secrets—they were all coming back to haunt him. Everything Ivan treasured was slowly slipping away. The temporary bliss and the dreamlike happiness had all been pushed aside by rough reality; forced into an almost nonexistent state. He was awake. Wide awake. The light feeling in his heart that—though hard to believe—was present just days ago, had all but vanished without a trace. Now it was nothing save a hollow, empty vessel that worked to keep him a living machine. In the three days since Yao walked wordlessly out of his room—out of his life—Ivan was robbed of everything he valued. His world had shattered irreparably.

He watched each painfully wordless step that Yao took; watched as the only person left that he held dear retreated farther and farther away, creating a distance that could never be breached. And Ivan knew he had long lost the right to bridge it.

He acknowledged that everything was his fault. Whether or not he confessed, the truth would have resurfaced nevertheless. Yao would have found out that the man he loved was the murderer of his brother, the cause of his sister's grief, the one responsible for tearing his old life apart. And through however method this buried past chose to reveal itself, the outcome was one and the same. Yao would leave him.

Ivan had been expecting it. Dreading it, yes, but nonetheless expecting it. Though it was selfish of him, those precious few weeks they spent together were enough. There was no reason and no excuse left to ask any more of the Chinese man. Besides, he was quite sure Yao would never want to see him again. Ivan had put his life in disarray countless times already.

_It's time to stop._

He sighed and closed his eyes, reliving those last few weeks with Yao, wishing fervently that there was a way to just leap into the memories and reside within them for the rest of his life. But reality beckoned as always. He grasped the handle of his suitcases and turned his empty gaze forward, walking out of the front door for the final time.

There were no more tears left to shed. He had run himself dry the first time he discovered the picture and the note. The first time Yao vanished from his life. This was simply a repeat of all that. It was his punishment. The least he could do was endure the pain as quietly as possible.

Ivan spared one last glimpse at the mansion, smiling sadly. How pathetic…it was a bad habit of his—running away from the places where the warmth had seeped away. And it didn't fail him this time.

There was one other reason for leaving, however. Although running away _was_ a habit of his, it was only one of many. If he stayed, he was afraid he would return to the other habit that was within arm's reach. The one whose victim was someone he loved. His worst habit. Hurting Yao.

Ivan climbed into his car and drove away, deciding it would be best not to turn back.

...

" _Hello, Ivan Braginski. I trust that you are well?"_

" _Who are you?"_

" _Of course, you must be well. Otherwise you would not have answered the phone. How silly of me,"_

" _I asked you who you are," Ivan growled._

" _Oh, I highly doubt you would know me personally. But perhaps you are familiar with my father, Valentin Lavrenti?"_

_Ivan nearly dropped the phone. Hearing that name after so long…that cursed, tainted name he hoped would never be spoken aloud again…it was a monster coming back to haunt him. He should have known it would happen. The peace he had experienced up until that point was much too good to be true._

" _What do you want?" Ivan asked, his voice steely._

" _Come now, there is no need for such frigidity. First things first." The man replied, sounding business-like. "I know you very well; it should only be fair that you become acquainted with me. My name is Dmitri Lavrenti. I am the son of Valentin Lavrenti…" suddenly his voice took on a dangerous edge. "…whom you killed."_

_The mere mention of the man brought about torrents upon torrents of unpleasant emotions that were proving difficult to control. Ivan clenched his fist. "He murdered my sisters."_

" _I believe you were aware of what you had gotten yourself into. Knowing my father, he would have given you precise warnings concerning what should not be done when given orders. Naturally, those warnings come with punishments in the event that you disobeyed or failed. And you did, Braginski. You had that coming."_

" _Innocent lives should not have been brought into those affairs." Ivan said viciously. "Killing my sisters was his mistake."_

" _And killing my father was yours." Lavrenti stated coldly. "I would come here now if I were you, as I am quite sure your little…ah,_ friend _…is most likely on his way."_

_It took a moment for the words to sink in, and a terrible feeling of dread stealthily crept up on him. It was happening again…someone was in danger because of him…_

_If Lavrenti was telling the truth, there would only be one reason for Yao to go there of his own accord. They were luring him with something…with_ someone _._

" _You are not asking why? Oh yes, it slipped my mind that you were once one of us…then you must be aware of our methods."_

_A rustle of movement was heard on the other end of the line, and then there was a scream. A high-pitched, ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream that escaped from a horrifyingly familiar voice. Ivan knew of only one person who was capable of making that sound._

_They had Mei._

_Mei, whom Ivan had grown to care for as his own sister. Sweet little Mei who was the reason Ivan had Yao—whose bright laugh could illuminate a dark room in an instant. Ivan knew the mafia's tactics; knew their methods of torture. How would she withstand such treatment?_

_She wouldn't. Not for long. They would keep at it until Yao got there. In which case, they would finish her off and turn to him instead. Ivan must arrive first in order to prevent the situation from escalating even further._

" _We are waiting, Ivan Braginski," said Lavrenti. "And do us the courtesy of making it quick. We flew all the way to China just for you. As you should know, we are very busy people." Then the line went dead._

_A second later, he received a text message bearing the words "_ you know where we are _". Of course he knew. It had to be_ that _place. The one where his sisters, Lavrenti, and all those other men met their ends. This new foe was apparently keen on making Ivan relive his worst nightmare prior to taking his life, therefore choosing a location that would make the biggest impact._

_If it was just his life on the line, he would not have hesitated surrendering himself for even a second. But his capture would not even remotely guarantee the survival of Yao and Mei. After they killed Ivan, they would most likely silence the other two as well to keep from having any witnesses. They wanted only Ivan's life, but those people also had no qualms about disposing of others who might potentially cause them harm. His only option was to repeat the incident with the previous Lavrenti._

_Ivan somehow needed to once again kill a roomful of men without being caught. Men who were no doubt prepared and guarded for such a plan. His chances of success were slim _—_ if not already zero. But whenever his thoughts wandered through that pessimistic route, his mind formed a vivid image of a lifeless Yao, pale and bloodied, eyes open and unseeing. He _had _to make it possible. There was no other option. Failure would spell certain death for all of them. With the Chinese man's life on the line, Ivan was willing to make absolutely anything possible. Within the time frame he estimated before Yao arrived at the place, Ivan only had time to retrieve his weapons and could do nothing else. Stowing them safely in an inconspicuous briefcase, he drove until he reached the mountainous woodsy parts that were unnavigable by car. He set off by foot from there, trudging along to the house well-concealed by greenery._

_It was slightly off-putting how there was no recognizable difference to the place. It remained lone and seemingly-harmless. Passers-by who happened to stumble across it—if there were even any—would not have harbored any suspicions. But Ivan knew better, the things that took place within those confined walls. He vaguely wondered whether the scarlet-stained carpets had been replaced._

_Concealing himself behind trees, he crept soundlessly towards the house. An eerie silence accompanied the tense atmosphere; not even a birdcall could be detected._

_And then he sensed it. The rustle of leaves in the surrounding greenery was not natural. It was perceptible whenever he moved, but silent whenever he was stationary. If his hunch was correct, it would at least explain the absence of birds in the area. Birds don't often perch near humans, after all._

_Ivan was only feet away from the back door entrance when the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Readily, he swiveled around and fired, bringing down a man who seemed to have attempted to incapacitate him from behind. But the casualty acted just as well as an outright initiation of a gun battle. Within seconds, a horde of men bore down upon Ivan._

_He shot with the same lethal accuracy he had possessed during his mafia days; his ability had not deteriorated. Even after all the time that passed, each pull of the trigger still felt disgustingly natural to him. The gun was a deadly extension of his arm. Ability notwithstanding however, for every man that he brought down, two more came in as replacements._

_Therefore it was inevitable when his weapon could no longer fire and simply clicked emptily. He had extra ammunition and another gun, but the outcome of trying to refill the first or grabbing the second would be the same as if he did nothing at all. As the men continued to advance, he began to fight using physical force. But there were just too many. He had been surrounded and overpowered. There was nothing to be done._

_They pinned his hands behind his back and bound them tightly together. He was taken quietly—almost ceremonially—to the room where the new Lavrenti was sitting._

" _And so we meet, Ivan Braginski." Lavrenti said. "Ah, and here I was hoping your friend would arrive here before you. But no matter. You will all end up the same way anyhow."_

_For a moment, Ivan stood in stunned silence, gaping at Dmitri Lavrenti's face. Everything about the man—from the cold, unsmiling eyes to the jeering mouth—was a dead ringer for his father. He was a slightly younger, but was otherwise an exact replica. If Ivan had not ensured the death of the original Lavrenti, he would have thought this man was the same person._

_Steering his thoughts away from nightmarish waters and focusing instead on the words, Ivan glared at the man's familiar piercing eyes. "Do not bring them into this," he said menacingly. "I am the one you want. There is no reason to get innocent people involved."_

" _That is right," Lavrenti agreed, stroking the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "You are the one I want. I want to take your life the way you took my father's. And yes, I will eventually." He shifted slightly in his seat and his eyes turned to him with malice. "But simply getting rid of you would be a dishonor to my father's name. I want you to suffer before you die."_

_He snapped his fingers and two men entered pushing a thrashing, blindfolded figure into the room. She was gagged. Her clothes were dirty and bloodied. As was her face. The men restraining Ivan had to tighten their grips upon his arms considerably as he began to furiously fight against his binds._

_Lavrenti stood and approached her, removing her blindfold roughly. He took her by the chin and smiled. "See for yourself the_ friend _who will be the cause of your family's ruin," he sneered, jerking her face sharply towards Ivan._

_Her eyes widened and welled up with tears. She was looking at him disbelievingly, as though he was the last person she expected to see standing there. Then her gaze morphed into something more accusatory; she was asking him how…why…_

" _This man over here, my dear," Lavrenti explained with apparent relish, "has committed an unforgivable sin towards the Russian mafia and towards me personally. Because of that sin, we were left with no choice but to involve your family in his affairs, since he has such close ties with you."_

_She was still looking at him, asking him to confirm. Begging him to say that it was not true. But all Ivan could do was turn away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her body go limp for a moment. He could not bring himself to meet her undoubtedly condemning gaze._

" _He is here to watch the main event," said Lavrenti, his lip curling._

_He flicked his head and two more men appeared at his command, pinning Mei's limbs firmly upon the ground. She kicked and squirmed against the force, screamed and howled against the gag, but the men were simply much too powerful._

_No…not to Mei…they couldn't…_

_Lavrenti turned to Ivan, who was now fighting desperately to free himself of his ties, and smirked. "I get the first honor, of course."_

_She attempted to turn her body away, still screaming those muffled screams. Lavrenti brought his fist down hard against her windpipe and the sound ceased immediately. "Shut up, you stupid girl, if you know what's good for you. I have no problem laying a dead woman."_

_Slowly he hiked up Mei's skirt, exposing more and more skin as he went. Tears streamed from the eyes that she kept tightly sealed. What remained of her voice was something barely above a hoarse whisper._

_Just as Lavrenti was about to unbuckle his belt, a blur of red collided with him, knocking him off of Mei. The figure straightened up and began punching as much of Lavrenti's face as he could reach, before he was seized and tied up as well._

_The figure turned to Ivan and a look of the deepest resentment crossed his features. "This is your fault." Leon said scathingly. This is all your fault."_

_Lavrenti rose and rearranged his clothes, wiping his bloody face on his sleeve. "And who is this?" he demanded, clearly annoyed. "This does not appear to be the one we are waiting for,"_

_Leon turned to Lavrenti and spat in his face. "Don't touch my sister, you filthy bastard."_

" _My my, aren't you an unpleasant one." Lavrenti stated distastefully, wiping his face again. "Gag him. His mouth is of no use to us." Then he turned to Ivan. "Ah, but this is even better. We have both siblings here. It seems this boy found the note intended for your lover, Braginski."_

_Ivan's self-disgust intensified tenfold as he felt a ray of hope flicker within him in spite of himself._

" _But am I correct in assuming that, in his haste to get here, the note was dropped in the same place?" asked Lavrenti, still smiling cruelly._

_An expression of terrifying realization dawned on Leon's face and Ivan's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. A jubilant expression crossed Lavrenti's features._

_As if on cue, there came an almighty crash from somewhere outside. Lavrenti's men rushed out of the room to check for the source, leaving only Ivan, Mei, Leon, and Lavrenti himself inside. Seconds later the sound of gunshots rang through the walls, magnified by the enclosed space. Then a deadly silence settled over the house._

_Ivan's lungs seemed to have ceased working. He was hoping against all hope, against all odds, that Yao was safe; that he would burst into the room unscathed._

_Ivan could not determine whether a few seconds, minutes, or hours' worth of painstaking anticipation passed. All he was aware of was the intensity with which he waited, surveying the doorway with bated breath._

_Relief shot through every nerve in his body when the Chinese man appeared, clutching a weapon, breathing heavily. There was some blood on his arm where a bullet seemed to have grazed it, but he was otherwise uninjured._

_He rushed into the room, gun poised towards Lavrenti, eyes murderous. But Lavrenti was ready. He brandished his gun with equal swiftness, and the two stood defiantly pointing their weapons at one another._

_With the absence of Lavrenti's men, Ivan began to fiddle with the ropes keeping his hands incapacitated. After a few maneuvers, he was free. But it was dangerous to charge just yet. A single movement from him would cause Lavrenti to pull the trigger without hesitation. No, he needed to find a favorable opportunity…_

" _You finished off all those useless buffoons by yourself?" Lavrenti asked Yao, evidently impressed._

_Mei and Leon had their eyes fixed on older brother, fear etched into their features._

_Yao said nothing, keeping his gaze utterly locked on the man before him._

_Lavrenti made a sudden movement, seizing a second gun from within his coat. Before Yao could react, the weapon had been pointed at Mei. "You shoot and she dies!" he screamed, eyes glinting madly. "I am well-trained with both hands."_

_Leon inched his body towards Mei and threw himself protectively over her._

_That movement caused Lavrenti to turn his head away from Yao for a fraction of a second, and Ivan seized his chance. He lunged and threw his full body weight onto the man, knocking him over and causing him to drop the second gun. He felt the mouth of the first pressing against his chest, but he grabbed Lavrenti's hand and twisted it, attempting to push it away from the people in the room._

_They grappled, each trying to fight off the other. Ivan kicked and punched until he felt his finger wrap around the trigger. He was just about to pry the man's hand off of the gun entirely—was certain that he had won—but a particularly hard shove from his enemy, and Ivan felt himself press on the notch. The shot was a thunderous explosion that broke the scuffle._

_Looking around the room frantically, Ivan saw Yao gazing up at him in absolute horror. Lavrenti was laughing manically. Then Mei screamed. Ivan swiveled around and saw a bloodstain spreading steadily across an unresponsive Leon's chest. A trickle of blood dribbled out of his mouth, staining the gag._

_He rounded on Lavrenti in fury and saw the man press something on his phone, a smug smile spreading across his lips. Ivan knew what he had just done. The previous Lavrenti had done that same thing countless times. He was summoning reinforcements, and they would arrive any minute._

_Furious with himself, with the world, he seized Lavrenti by the collar and slammed the barrel of the gun against his temple, using the force of his anger as fuel. The man slumped to the floor, unconscious. Then Ivan fired at the moving body until the gun cartridge was empty of bullets. Until the man on the ground was nothing but a bloody mass, dead, just like his father._

" _You have to go._ Now _." Ivan said urgently to Yao, still observing the emaciated figure before him, searching for any remaining signs of life. "Yao,"_

_He was afraid of what he would see once he looked around. He did not want to meet gazes that regarded him as something dangerous—as a monster. But every passing second narrowed their chances of escape. They could not afford to lose what little time remained. He had no choice but to face his faults. Bracing himself, Ivan turned._

_Yao was kneeling on the ground, gaze trained towards his brother. Leon's hand lay limply within his. Mei, whose binds had been removed, had her face buried in her hands._

_The seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity as Ivan failed to find words capable enough to express the terrible whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him. If it weren't for his mistake, Leon would not be laying lifeless on the floor. If it weren't for his refusal to convey his past to them early on, Yao could have at least been forewarned and prepared for this kind of incident. In fact, none of it would have happened if he hadn't involved himself with them in the first place. He could not apologize. He had no right._

_And so Ivan stood there, silent as a stone, watching as Leon's crimson blood saturated the snowy-white carpet._

_It was Yao who broke the silence. "He's_ dead _._ " _he turned his head towards Ivan, his voice trembling with anger and anguish. "_ What have you done _?!"_

" _Yao, please, they're coming…" Ivan managed weakly, taking a step towards them._

_Yao stood and snatched Mei, placing his body in front of her defensively. "Don't you_ dare _come near us,"_

_Ivan froze in his tracks. His heart plummeted at the words. Yao's familiar welcoming features had been replaced with a look of the deepest detestation. His usually warm gaze was now icy, bearing no trace of the fondness it once possessed whenever directed towards him._

" _You must leave right now," Ivan pleaded. "You possess every right to loathe me, Yao. Not even the heavens are capable of justifying my actions. But if you want to save yourself and your sister, you have to listen to me._ Go _. They are coming."_

_Yao scrutinized him for a moment more, his expression unreadable. "I never want to see you again," he whispered icily._

_Although it was excruciating to hear, he understood the demand. Even if Yao didn't articulate it, Ivan wouldn't have had the gall to show himself to them again anyway._

_Just as Yao and Mei turned to leave, the sound of multiple footsteps carried through from outside and had Ivan racking his brains for an alternate escape route. "Yao, where's your car?"_

_He hesitated. "Near yours. I found your car somewhere near the forest edge and followed your tracks to get here."_

_Picturing the layout of the house and the surrounding area, Ivan concluded that the only way to escape with at least a small chance of survival would be to get back to their cars and find a people-busy location. The mafia men were not stupid enough to commit a crime in the presence of multiple witnesses. But to achieve this, sprinting full throttle through the woods was their best bet. What other choice was there for the taking?_

" _Use the back door. We have to find our vehicles and get out of the woods."_

_Yao eyed him mistrustfully._

" _This is the last time I will ever ask you to trust in me." Ivan said with a hollow voice, replying to his look._

_Yao kissed his brother's forehead as farewell, and the trio hurried out through the said door with Ivan in the lead. And right in the nick of time too it seemed. Just as they managed to conceal themselves within a nearby copse in the wood, the resounding crash of what undoubtedly was the front door sent birds zooming out of their trees in panic._

_It appeared to Ivan that the reinforcements were not all that intelligent, as they had forgotten to station lookouts around the perimeter of the house. He used their brief moment of safety to ensure that his weapon was fully engaged, watching as Yao did the same with his. Mei was huddled beside her brother. Her face tearstained and her eyes blank. Ivan turned away quietly, aware that there was nothing he could do to provide her comfort, seeing as he was the reason she was in that state to begin with._

" _Take Mei and run ahead of me," he told Yao. "I will guard the rear. Once you reach your car, find a public place as fast as you can."_

_Yao nodded, not meeting his gaze._

_Ivan checked if the coast was clear, certain that Lavrenti's men must have gotten over the shock of finding their allies dead by then. "Run. Now. Go."_

_Yao seized Mei by the wrist and together they darted through the path, leaving prominent footprints in their wake._

_Shit, the tracks…they'll follow…_

_Deciding that he would serve to buy Yao and Mei time to escape, he treaded after them carefully, checking the surrounding greenery for any unusual rustles or movements._

_Once he saw Yao clamber safely into his car with Mei, he ran as quickly as possible to reach his own. It was then that Lavrenti's men caught sight of them._

_His engine revved to life right as a bullet grazed the side of the driver's door. Stepping on the gas pedal with more pressure than was wise, he tore down the gravelly mountain road after Yao._

_For a while there was nothing. Ivan was apprehensive. It was unlike Russian mafia men to relent so easily. But the peace stretched far longer than was necessary for them to be tracked down, and he let himself relax._

_It was then that three black cars swooped in from behind, whose passengers had started firing freely at Ivan. In front of him, he saw Yao's vehicle swerving madly to avoid the stray bullets. He knew he couldn't abandon the wheel for his weapon, as a simple mishap would send the car teetering off the edge of the mountain cliff. All he could do was hope that he would not become indisposed before he had guaranteed Yao's safety._

_One of the black cars drew level with his. Blood started staining his clothes a moment later. Numbing adrenaline kept him from noticing the wound inflicted upon his left arm. Keeping his injured limb on the wheel, he seized his weapon and aimed for the tires of the adjacent vehicle, successfully incapacitating the two on the side closest to him. Looking through the rearview mirror, Ivan saw another of the remaining two cars collide with the forcefully-halted one and watched as both vehicles erupted into flames._

_One more to go._

_When the final pursuer caught up to him, Ivan was prepared. But instead of aiming at_ him _, the front-seat passenger shot multiple times at the car in_ front _of him._

_He braked and fired relentlessly at the final car, killing both the passenger and the driver, sending the vehicle down the cliff._

_But not before the damage was done._

_The bullets seemed to have hit a critical part of Yao's car, and Ivan, terror-stricken, was rooted to his seat as the small man lost control of the vehicle._

_Time was in a standstill. He watched helplessly as the vehicle broke past the metal road barrier, and hurtled off the edge of the mountainside._

_..._

Of all the things to remember…

Ivan was close to the airport. His flight was in two hours. Why now?

Nothing could break his resolve better than the memory of what it felt like to lose Yao.

He had lost consciousness due to blood-loss from his wound moments after witnessing the accident. Upon recovery, he learned that both Yao and Mei had survived, but that they disappeared and were nowhere to be found. It was the same day he discovered the note and the picture.

Ivan remembered feeling as though he was living in a desolate wasteland. Nothing was important. No one mattered. He had nothing left to treasure.

Can he really bear to lose the Chinese man a second time? All selfishness aside—was it really possible—knowing full well that Yao was still within reach—to lead a life without him?

Yes.

It was _possible._ But he would much rather die.

And that was all it took to convince Ivan to make a complete U-turn.

Suddenly a speeding car materialized out of the side street he was passing mid-turn, and it came careening towards him head-on.

There was an ear-splitting screech of wheels. 

A stunning impact.

A burst of scorching red-and-gold heat.

And then, nothing.


	17. Chapter 17

Yao opened his eyes and drew a sharp breath as fires of scorching pain shot through his body.

His vision was blurred—the surroundings were a foggy haze of white. His nose detected a strong antiseptic smell.

Raising a tentative hand to tug at some kind of weighty material on his head, Yao saw a mess of bandages wrapped all over his arm. He carefully raised the other and saw that he was hooked on to a beeping machine beside the bed. He ran his fingers gingerly over his face and head. More bandages. And most of the pain seemed to be coming from that area.

_What happened? Why am I in a hospital?_

" _Ge-ge_?" a small voice called from the doorway.

It took a moment, but his vision finally focused upon his little sister. Her eyes were threatening to spill a well of tears. "Mei," he said weakly.

She rushed to his side and took his hand, kissed it, then buried her face in the covers, weeping with relief. Yao stroked her hair with gentle fingers.

"Shh, _xiao Mei_ ," he cooed. "It's alright. I'm okay."

"I thought I was going to lose you...you've been unconscious for weeks..." Mei hiccuped. "It can't happen again...not like last time..."

"I'm here now, there's no need to worry," he soothed. "Everything's going to be okay."

She raised her head slightly, giving him a long, searching stare. Her expression suggested that something was amiss.

"Mei, how did I end up here?" Yao asked.

His sister's gaze dropped to the floor. "They told me not to stress you out."

"I'll be able to handle it," he assured her.

Her eyes wandered around the room hesitantly, and she took a deep breath before she spoke. "You were driving—too fast, they said—and you...you collided with another vehicle. The damage on your facial area was really bad. You almost lost your sight, but he..." she paused, "...but thankfully the doctor managed to save your...your eyes..."

The rest of her words were drowned out by the sudden realization of what had led him to drive fast in the first place.

He bolted to a sitting position, ignoring the intense pounding in his head. The room swam in a dizzying whirl of movement, and he was forced to lie back down.

"Teacher!" his sister cried. "Don't do that! The doctors said you're not allowed to strain yourself!"

"I have to...Mei, please..." Yao pleaded weakly, trying to get back up, despite his sister holding him down."I have to go...apologize...he's leaving...probably already left...Ivan..."

At the mention of the name, Mei's grip immediately slackened. Something in her stern expression shifted. She looked ready to burst into tears again.

"Mei?" Yao inquired carefully. 

She shut her eyes tightly. "Just rest, teacher. Please. You need to rest."

"Mei." His voice came out stronger the second time. "Mei, there's something you're not telling me."

"I'll tell you when you're better." She said, rising from her chair. "Just rest for now."

"No, Mei. Tell me right now!" He demanded. "Mei!"

As his eyes followed her progress to the doorway, he caught a fleeting flash of an unmistakable shade of purple from somewhere in the room.

A feeling of warmth surged through Yao, and he looked around, for surely that unique violet color was the one that belonged to Ivan's eyes and Ivan's eyes alone. He was expecting the Russian man to jump out from underneath the bed or from within the closet, ready to surprise him.

He caught the flash of color again and was finally able to pinpoint the source, but what Yao found made no sensible connections in his mind whatsoever. The warm feeling was immediately replaced by a cold chill.

With shaking fingers, he removed the little mirror from the bedside table and stared at his reflection. Or what should have been his reflection. Except, rather than his own honeyed orbs, he found the familiar amethyst eyes staring back at him.

Mei turned around when her brother suddenly went quiet, and blanched upon seeing what he had in his hands.

"Mei."

" _Ge-ge_..." She started with a tiny voice.

 _No_.

"Mei, did they put contacts on me to help me see better? You said my eyes were damaged, right? Why did they pick this color? It looks bad on me." He knew that his words made no sense, but neither did the features peering back at him from the mirror. "Mei, what is this?"

" _Ge-ge_..." She repeated, tears starting to well up in her eyes.

 _No_.

"You know what? Never mind." Yao declared, placing the mirror back on the table with shaking hands. "Just get me discharged from the hospital. I feel fine now. I really need to see Ivan." 

He sat up, paying no heed to the lightheadedness that followed. "What are you standing there for? Hurry! I have to follow him!"

She was covering her mouth with her hand and was sobbing. " _Ge-ge_ ," she pleaded.

"Stop repeating yourself and do as I say, Mei!" He scolded, his voice taking on a more desperate edge.

"He's dead." She said softly through her tears.

 _NO_.

"Stop talking nonsense." Yao dismissed, breathing heavily. "Get me discharged, and help me find a cheap plane ticket to Russia. Right now."

" _He's gone_ ," she breathed more audibly.

Yao's chest was constricting painfully. "I know he's gone to Russia, that's why I'm going to follow—"

" _GE-GE_ , HE'S DEAD!" she yelled, trembling vigorously.

" _NO, HE'S NOT_!" Yao screamed, hysteria hinting in his voice. "I was following him on his way to the airport! He just got there before me because of this accident, and he's probably in Russia by now!"

Mei went back to his side and collapsed on her chair, head in her hands. "If that's really where he was going, then it means he turned around to come back."

Yao's senses were shutting off. He felt his body numbing. "What are you talking about now?"

"The car you hit was his." She breathed in reply.

He felt as though his heart had been dug out of his chest and crushed before his eyes. "No, that's impossible." He said defiantly. "That can't happen, Mei. _You know it can't,_ " he begged, "those things only happen in stories and dramas."

"But it happened, teacher." Mei whispered.

She breathed in deeply. "Although they said they could save you," she began explaining, "you were in bad condition when you got here because of all the glass that shattered on your face. They needed to perform a risky transplant on you right away or else you would lose your sight forever."

"Be quiet, Mei." Yao was repeatedly shaking his head. "Just get me out of this place already. Please."

"But _his_ condition was a completely different story." She met his gaze, and her face mirrored his pain. "A lot of his major organs had been lacerated. The doctors said he didn't have much time. He knew it. He asked about you, and he...he told the doctors to use his."

Yao clenched his fists and asked despite himself—despite knowing perfectly well, the words that would issue out of his sister's mouth. "His what?"

"His eyes."

A raging monster howled and screamed and tore at his insides, ripping his thoughts apart from his emotions. It clawed through his entire being, scratching away and obliterating everything in its path.

He rocked back and forth in silent defiance, refusing to acknowledge her words. Ivan can't be dead. He just _cannot_ be dead. Not him. Not the strong, bright Russian man that Yao loved so very much.

"Mei, it's not true, right?" He asked her, begging her one last time to deny it. To say it was all just one massive, horrendous joke.

She cast her sad gaze down to the bedsheets in silent confirmation.

"NO!" Yao yelled, throwing his pillow at the wall and smashing the little mirror to bits on the floor. He yanked the IV needle out of his arm, ignoring the searing pain that followed, for surely nothing in the world could compare to the excruciating pain that enveloped his very existence. "NO, GOD DAMN IT, HE'S NOT FUCKING DEAD!"

 _"Ge-ge_..." She wept, gathering him in her arms as he writhed and struggled, desiring to destroy every possible object he could get his hands on.

The realization had hit him full blast—an explosion of insurmountable guilt, unimaginable anger, and terrible, incomprehensible pain.

But his body was still much too weak, and it could not handle the overwhelming emotions that his mind was barraged with. All at once, all the fury and all the sudden strength seeped out of his system. He collapsed against his sister's embrace, sobbing like a child. "Mei," Yao cried. "How am I ever going to get over this, when I'll see him every time I see myself?"

"Don't treat it like a curse, teacher. Treasure that piece of him." She stroked his head gently. "It's rare to have something so valuable left in another person's care."

"I didn't even get to tell him I'm sorry..." Yao whispered weakly, too weak to struggle, his tears leaking out silently in an unbroken waterfall.

"Start over for him. Don't waste what he's given you, _ge-ge_." she said.

She cradled his head in her arms and softly hummed an old Chinese lullaby as she stroked his hair. In time, Yao felt fatigue winning his body over despite the grief, despite the self-disgust.

"Remember what you always told me before, when I still couldn't get over Leon's death? You said they never truly leave us, because we can still cherish them through our memories." she soothed. "You told me that love goes beyond death."

Tendrils of sleep had coiled themselves around Yao, clouding his mind with exhaustion. He heard his sister whisper one final sentence before he succumbed to the inevitable.

"Don't forget him, _ge-ge_. Don't ever stop loving Ivan." She said in a soft whisper. "He'll always be alive that way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ge-ge" means "big brother" in Mandarin.


	18. 60 Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached our conclusion, guys! Thank you to all of you who supported this story until the very end! 
> 
> -Mariska

Yao woke to the sound of laughter and music in the distance. He felt a smile paint his face. It must have been the children.

The sixty years that had passed following Ivan's death were not the easiest. The only remaining joy that Yao possessed after the incident was that of seeing Mei lead a wonderful life. He lived through his sister—reveled in her happiness as she matured, married, and started a family of her own. He watched as her children grew and did the same.

He loved her grandchildren just as much as he would have loved his own. But even as the white hair sprouted and the wrinkles appeared, Yao found himself simply content with seeing Mei live a full life in his stead.

He knew it would have been impossible for him to ever truly be happy without the presence of the only man he had loved. Sure, a few others came and went, but none ever felt right and none ever lasted. There was always going to be a gaping void that could only be filled by someone who was already long gone. And the constant reminder that tormented him whenever he looked in the mirror left him too guilty and sad. Despite Mei's ceaseless urging, Yao never found willpower enough to move on. 

And so he aged without ever finding love again. Instead, he projected his love onto his sister and the children. He lived for them; adored their constant presences—the noise and the fun that they used to counter the silence of his heart. And Mei—the wonderful girl—never once withheld that joy from him.

But as was inevitable, the years had taken a toll on Yao's physical capabilities. His joints, once so strong and able, now flared up almost daily, preventing him from doing a host of useful actions. And that cursed back of his felt just about ready to hunch over into a perfect parabola any day now. He could no longer keep up with the young ones most of the time.

That said, for some unbeknownst reason, his body had been rid of all its usual morning pains that particular moment. It felt light and within his control.

Smiling gratefully, Yao opened his eyes, ready to take full advantage of today to play with the children…

…and found himself face-to-face with an unfamiliar ceiling that most definitely was not the one in his room. His fingers slid over the silky velvet of a surface that did not belong to his bed. Yao bolted to a sitting position with a speed he thought had years ago abandoned his body.

He was in a car. A very luxurious one. Yao gazed out the misty window and saw millions of shimmering lights illuminating a city's night. A pang of nostalgia hit him square in the chest. This wasn't home, but for some reason, he felt as though he had already been there before.

Yao's eyes subconsciously focused on his reflection in the window. Barely managing to stifle a scream, he backed away until he hit the other side of the car. He looked again. Saw the same thing. Breathing heavily, Yao examined his hands and ran them all over his face. The wrinkles and gray hair had all but disappeared. The reflection that was returning his gaze was that of a young Yao. A Yao with amber eyes instead of amethyst orbs. The Yao from sixty years ago.

Frozen in a state of panic and shock, he busied himself by examining his smooth hands in wonder, feeling them over the face that had lost all trace of age. He ran his fingers down the crisp, all-white suit that encased his body.

Suddenly the car stopped. The music and the laughter grew more audible. It scared Yao to think of what might lie beyond the other side of the door, but it also aroused his curiosity and fascination. If this was just a dream giving him a day to live young again, then by all means he should dream it well, should he not?

Bringing a tentative hand to the handle, Yao pushed the door open and emerged slowly. Another hand, not his own, was outstretched, waiting to take his.

As his eyes alighted upon the figure's face, Yao let out a moan of disbelief. His mind decided to cave in on him. His chest exploded with emotion. He had lost control over his emotional faculties and could not decide whether to cry or laugh.

And all at once the realization of what the whole thing really was finally dawned on him. It wasn't a dream. But he didn't care. He had lived more than his fair share of years already anyway.

"I died, didn't I?" he asked bluntly.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Yes you did, teacher. You died peacefully in your sleep just a few hours ago, and Mei's gong to cause one hell of an almighty racket in the morning." Leon smiled warmly. "Nice to see you again, _ge-ge_."

Yao flung himself onto his little brother. All the guilt and shame and grief that had haunted him all those years after Leon's death came out through his heaving sobs. He fussed over the boy, drinking up every little detail of his face, absorbing every feature until it had all been branded into his mind.

"Stop it, teacher." Leon said, trying to push Yao away like he used to whenever his brother got too fussy. "You know you have like, an eternity to get sick of my face again."

Yao wrapped him in a bone-crushing embrace. "I'm sorry," he cried. "I'm sorry you had to go so early."

Leon returned it without hesitation. "It's already been like, sixty-something years. I got over it a long time ago." He replied, smiling.

Yao laughed through his tears. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Good. I happen to value my awesome personality." He joked. "Anyway, you're a total mess right now. I think you should seriously clean your face up a bit before we go."

"Go where?"

Leon smiled gently. "To the place where he's waiting for you."

Yao…after all those years of reliving memories over and over so as not to lose them…had finally arrived. To the somewhere that he belonged. Where the beautiful amethyst eyes were where they truly belonged. Where the man he had longed for all those years was waiting for him. Where Ivan was waiting for him. After all this time.

Gathering himself, Yao wiped away his tears. Deep down he knew it was pointless, however, for he was certain that there would be more very, very soon.

He surveyed his surroundings as he and Leon came closer and closer to their destination. The true sources of the music and the laughter had become apparent.

He smiled to himself. It was so classic, so _freakishly_ cliché, and so perfectly Ivan.

"Did he choose the place?" he asked softly.

Leon smiled in confirmation.

Yao was back in Paris. A short distance away he could make out the string-quartet. A candlelit table sat beneath the glittering Eiffel Tower. Just like the first time.

"Talk about déjà vu," Yao jested.

"But wait until we actually get there, teacher. Then you'll notice the difference."

Once they arrived, Yao did as Leon suggested. Immediately he saw that the table was no loner set for just two people. It was set for five. And two of the seats were already occupied by people whose faces he had only been able to see through a photograph. Ivan's sisters, Katyusha and Natalia, smiled brightly up at him.

Yao did the same and felt the tears coming once more. He had never been happier in his life—or death, whichever one works—for both himself and Ivan.

Leon took his seat on the table.

 _Now there were only two vacant spots left,_ he thought, his heart pounding wildly in anticipation. _One for me, and one for…_

…the man whose hand yanked his from behind, effectively spinning him around. Not even a heartbeat later and his lips had already been pressed against Ivan's own soft, familiar ones.

After all those years…so long, so very long Yao waited to feel this way again…his heart was full fit to burst. He felt as though his happiness would never be able to exceed the level it had just reached at that moment.

Gently, Ivan pulled away. He smiled that wonderful smile—that beautiful bright smile that even the twinkling lights of the Eiffel could never outshine. "Hello, my little Yao."

Yao choked back another sob as he gazed up at the person whom he loved more than anything else in the world. Whose untimely departure from life had killed a part of him as well. A part that had now been returned completely whole. "Hello, Ivan."

Ivan brought a hand to Yao's cheek and stroked it tenderly. "I've missed you," he whispered, nothing but sincerity and love embedded within his every word.

"I've missed you too. So, so much." Yao let out a shaky laugh in between his tears. "But you seem to have been busy anyway," he teased, gesturing to his surroundings.

Chuckling, Ivan wrapped his arms around Yao and pulled him close. "And you took your time, little Yao."

"Touché," Yao conceded.

There was a moment of quiet ecstasy, where the two lovers simply stood holding each other, neither of them wanting to let the other one go.

_This is where I belong._

"Ivan?" Yao piped up, breaking the silence.

"Hmm?"

"Is this our forever?" he asked softly, burying his face in Ivan's shoulders.

"Yes, my little Yao. This is our forever." The Russian man pulled him back into a long embrace. "There will be nothing in our way anymore."

He felt Ivan's hold on him tighten, and as they swayed slowly in time with the music, a single thought surfaced in Yao's mind:

_I'm home._

**剧终. Конец. The end.**


End file.
